Death Shan't Be Conquered
by Sariss
Summary: COMPLETE Snape has a hard time keeping up the Death Eater act, especially in the presence of the new DADA teacher. Both of them grudging and emotionally unstable, they're trying to come to terms with each other--while the Dark Lord bides his time..
1. Prelude to Tragedy

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters created by JK Rowling. About 95 % of the concepts in this story belong to her and/or Bloomsbury, Scholastic, Warner Bros., et al who make a hell of a lot of money out of this. No copyright infringement is intended.  
The following characters, however, are mine, mine, mine! A few more or less major characters, namely Rick Allen, Aurora Shade, Seth Malfoy, Chloe Lestrange, Susan Laveau and a few others. My OC Sariss Electra Ravon (which has, apart from her first name, only a few Mary-Sue-ish tendencies *grins*) and Oberon, the raven, are also mine. Stupid bird wanted to be mentioned here… ;-) 

Pure desperation during the loooooooong wait for Book Five led me to write this story. 

**DEATH SHAN'T BE CONQUERED**

**_By Sariss_**

**Prologue: Prelude to Tragedy**

**_"And here we have six missing Death Eaters…  
three dead in my service. One, too cowardly to return…  
he will pay. One, who I believe has left me forever…  
he will be killed, of course…"_**

_The Goblet of Fire: Chapter 33—The Death Eaters_

**_"Severus," said Dumbledore, turning to Snape,  
"you know what I must ask you to do. If you are ready…  
if you are prepared…"_**

**_"I am," said Snape._******

_The Goblet of Fire: Chapter 36—The Parting of the Ways_

Deep down in the dungeons of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Severus Snape, the Potions master, awoke with a start. Another nightmare. No, not really a nightmare. In the case of Severus Snape, nightmares tended to be rather memories than imaginations of the subconscious mind. 

He ran his hands over his face, wiping away the thin layer of sweat that covered his cheeks and his forehead. Then he checked the clock—five thirty in the morning. The Dreamless Sleep Potion had obviously worn off. He remembered the dream as clearly as the events that had caused the ever-recurring nightmare… How could he ever forget them when not even in his sleep he was safe from the memories that kept chasing each other inside his mind?

Severus Snape took a look at his left forearm. He couldn't see what was there—it was too dark in his chambers to see—but he didn't need light to know that the Dark Mark was blazing there, livid, burnt deep into his skin by the most powerful Dark wizard of the twentieth century, the Dark Lord himself, more than eighteen years ago. It had faded, yes, but then it had come back again, the skull with the snake protruding from its mouth. It had come back when the age of the Second Darkness had begun.

Two years ago, everything had started anew after the end of the Triwizard Tournament. It had happened on 24th June 1995…

That very day—or rather night—the Dark Lord had risen again…

And Fudge, this incompetent idiot of a Minister for Magic, hadn't believed a single word of what the Potter boy had said. The boy had survived his encounter with the Dark Lord—barely; and not unscathed either. Voldemort had used his blood to strengthen his new body—a hideous shell it was. But Severus should find this out quite a while later…

Fudge had ignored the obvious. If he didn't believe Potter, then he should at least have believed the evidence that was burning on Severus Snape's left forearm. The Dark Mark—clearly visible it was once again, as it had not been for fourteen years. The Mark that showed that he had been a Death Eater once, in a dark time that he'd rather forget… And Fudge had denied everything. That idiot was still in denial! After all that had happened in the meantime. He would still deny it when the Dark Lord himself stood right before him and pointed his wand at Fudge's chest to mutter and perform the Killing curse. Perhaps he wouldn't even die from it. After all, for him the Dark Lord didn't exist any more, so why die from a curse hurled at him by someone who didn't exist? Severus thought mirthlessly.

Dumbledore, however, had read the signs right. He had gathered the ones that were loyal to the cause around him to fight the Dark Lord once again. And Severus had done as he had asked of him. He'd thought he'd been prepared to do it, he really did… and he had said so. But he hadn't been prepared after all. Yet, he'd done as requested. He'd done everything that had been necessary to achieve the ultimate goal: Being welcomed back into the Dark Lord's fold with open arms. Into his Inner Circle.

And these were the demons that still haunted him; they haunted him every time he closed his eyes. Evil memories…

_July 1995_

Severus Snape clenched his teeth together to keep himself from crying out loud as, once more, the Dark Lord yelled "Crucio!" and Severus once again fell to the ground, his body writhing and twitching in pain. He had almost forgotten what it had felt like; it had been a very long time since this had happened the last time, more than fifteen years ago. 

"Finite Incantatem!" Voldemort shouted.

"Forgive me, my Lord. Have mercy on your loyal servant," Severus murmured in a shaky voice, gasping for breath, trying to scramble to his knees, willing his body to obey, and bending to kiss the hem of the Dark Lord's robes. "I've been a coward. I feared to be discovered had I returned to you at your calling."

"Yes, yes. You would have aroused suspicions, I understand," Voldemort said.

Severus' sigh of relief stuck in his throat as the Dark Lord whispered, "Crucio" in a voice as though he were saying something like, "And another Butterbeer…"

Snape tried not to think about the pain, blocking it out, ignoring it somehow—but he couldn't. Thousands of white-hot knives seemed to slice through his body, piercing his heart, his lungs, his intestines… Yet, he did not scream. Do not show weakness when facing He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, the man the people of the wizarding world feared so much that they were so very reluctant to speak his real name out loud as if it would bring him directly into their midst as soon as they mentioned it—Voldemort.

The pain suddenly stopped. Severus hadn't even heard Voldemort utter the words that would stop the torture. He scrambled to his knees again, once again kissing the hem of the Dark Lord's robes, whispering, "Thank you, my Lord."

It was tradition to do so. A cruel, humiliating ritual it was to be forced to thank the Dark Lord for inflicting pain on you, making you writhe in pain at his feet, having this sneering, snakelike face staring down at you, hearing this evil, high-pitched cackle that hadn't vanished with his old body. Somehow, he seemed not to be able to speak in a somewhat normal voice, a voice that was kind to the ear. 

Even his voice had been deformed by the Evil that was inside of him…

"You may rise now, Severus," Voldemort said as though it was the most generous thing one could ever be granted.

"Thank you, my Lord."

"You have shown much self-control, my servant."

"Thank you, my Lord," Snape repeated mechanically.

"However," the Dark Lord raised his voice. "I ask of you one last token of your devotion to me and my cause. Having accomplished the task I set you, you will be welcomed back to your former position, by my side, amongst my most trusted servants…"

"Anything you wish me to do, my Lord, it shall be done," Severus forced out trying not to sound too disgusted. The tone of the Dark Lord's voice had given his intentions away—and surely, there it came:

"Bring me the traitor! Bring me Igor Karkaroff!"

"My Lord," Snape said quietly. "It will be most difficult to find him. As it has not escaped your superior knowledge, he fled as soon as he got word of your return…"

"It is indeed so, Severus. That's why I do not set you a timeframe. However, if I were you… I would try not to take _too_ much time…"

"I understand, my Lord."

"Do you?"

"Yes, my Lord, and I thank you most subserviently for entrusting me with a matter as important as this," Snape said, bowing deeply, an action that had the advantage of hiding his face that was by now contorted with disgust. He quickly forced his features into a cold, indifferent expression again.

"You are good with words, Severus. You have always been."

"Thank you, my Lord."

"And now leave and fulfil your task as I _asked_ you to." 

_Asked. More likely commanded, ordered, forced perhaps…_

Severus bowed once more, thanked Voldemort again and retreated slowly.

_End of August 1995_

Snape pushed Karkaroff forward so that he fell to his knees in front of the Dark Lord.

"Igor. Did you really think you could escape my wrath?" Voldemort hissed casually, as though he were talking to a disobedient child.

"My Lord…" Karkaroff said pleadingly.

"Silence!" Voldemort roared. "You betrayed me—don't even try to deny it. I know. I have eyes and ears everywhere in the wizarding world, you should know that as well as everybody else here. You know what is the punishment for treachery, don't you?"

"My Lord—" Karkaroff tried once again to speak to his former master.

"However, this will not happen too soon, I can promise you that. You will suffer before you die. And you will scream for me…" Lord Voldemort's voice had dropped to a whisper as he trailed off.

And the Dark Lord started hurling curses at Karkaroff, not just the Cruciatus Curse, which would have been painful enough, but much more _creative_ curses; curses that made him bleed, tore his robes, sliced through his skin. Severus had never seen something like this before… The Dark Lord had always used only the Cruciatus Curse, an elegant way of torture, he had thought. Since he had returned, he had become even more cruel and vicious than he had ever been before… This was madness.

Severus watched, a completely blank expression on his face, as Karkaroff was being tortured, as he writhed on the ground in pain, as he screamed. Horrible noises could be heard. Never had Karkaroff made only a single sound when he had been put under the Cruciatus Curse—but now he did. He screamed as though he could save himself by doing so. But it wouldn't save him… 

It wouldn't save Severus either. He was doomed. By letting this happen—no, by being the reason for this to happen!—he'd doomed himself to hell. Hell on Earth. He knew he wouldn't sleep any more after this. He knew what was to come, what was expected of him…

The Dark Lord would command him to do it as soon as he lost interest in the bloody—yet still alive—mess that was Igor Karkaroff.

"Finite Incantatem!" Voldemort shouted, stepping closer to the barely alive figure on the ground. "That is the punishment" (for emphasis, he pointed his wand at Karkaroff, which was totally unnecessary, thought Severus), "I intend to inflict upon everyone who only _tries_ to betray me—Look at him! Closely! All of you! Let this be imprinted into your memory as a constant reminder of the fate every single one of you will meet should they dare to betray the Dark Lord!"

Severus swallowed. Hard. Fortunately for him, he had his face hidden by the hood. A standard—and useful—accessory when you were a Death Eater, which—Severus had to remind himself constantly of this—he was _not_.

"Severus! Step closer," the Dark Lord said now, and Severus obeyed. "What is your wish, master?"

"You did well. I am proud of you. You have proven your loyalty to me. I am grateful—yet there is one more _thing_ that I want you to do."

"Yes, master."

"You already know it, don't you?" the Dark Lord asked.

"I… suspect it, my Lord."

"You _suspect_ it, Severus. Well then, what do you think I want you to do?"

"Kill him," Severus whispered.

"If I asked this of you… would you?"

Severus knew what Voldemort was implying. Perhaps Severus Snape, the Death Eater, a _presumably_ loyal servant of the Dark Lord, was a coward; perhaps he'd try to back out, now that it had come this far. Perhaps he did _not really_ intend to return to his side? He had said that Severus had proven his loyalty… Yet he was not as easy to convince that this was not just an act (which it was). He might just try to determine if Severus still was… up to it…

"I will do anything you ask of me, my Lord," he replied, his voice as firm and evil sounding as he could ever manage.

"Prove it. Kill him. Finish it now!" the Dark Lord snarled.

Karkaroff hadn't said a single word all the time. Yet now he spoke up, his voice a hoarse whisper, hoarse from screaming. "Yes, Severus," he said, "finish it now. I will see you again" (he coughed, blood trickled out of the corner of his mouth as he did so), "in Hell."

"Severus," Voldemort prompted, indicating Karkaroff to Snape as though he had opened a door and beckoned a guest in, "the incantation."

And Severus drew his wand and looked at it. Only for a second. Yet, to him it seemed like an eternity. This wand had not performed an Unforgivable Curse for at least twelve years… no, for quite some time longer than that… Time was indeed fleeting… And now he would use it to cast the worst of the Unforgivables—the Killing Curse.

Snape stepped forward and stretched out his wand so that it pointed to Karkaroff who was looking at him, knowing that he would die—and accepting it. Death could be a blessing. And after this torture it probably was…

Karkaroff closed his eyes now, awaiting the curse to strike him down.

Severus took a deep breath. "Avada Kedavra!" he said. The flash of green light shot out of the tip of his wand, struck Karkaroff in the chest and with a dull thud he dropped to the ground—dead as a doornail. So simple it was. Snape could feel a rush of power surging through his body, enveloping him, making him feel… No, no this must not happen again. This was not _him_! He would not let himself be overwhelmed by the hunger for power… or the thirst for revenge… or the fact that it had felt so very good as he had killed Karkaroff only a few seconds ago… 

On the other hand, he felt the familiar tug in his chest that accompanied the Killing Curse. The fist that clenched around his insides… A feeling as though his soul were twisted and squeezed by the devil himself, ready to claim it.

Still, he wanted more of this, but he knew he must not give in. Not this time. He had to fight this before he became addicted to it, once again, which would lead to death and suffering—and after some time he would realize again that this was but an illusion… And when he did, there would not be another chance. Dumbledore had given him a second chance already. No one would offer him a third, Severus was sure of that. And so he focused on this thought, drawing strength from it, enough strength so he could now look up and into the Dark Lord's face and not give away anything about his inner struggle.

"You apparently haven't forgotten. A well-performed curse it was, my loyal servant."

"Thank you, my Lord," Severus muttered mechanically, glad that his voice sounded submissive of its own accord.

"Welcome back, Severus. Once again you stand by my side."

"Thank you, my Lord," Snape repeated. Why did it seem to him that this was the only sentence he'd uttered for the last couple of hours?

"You're dismissed, Severus," the Dark Lord finally said, and Severus inwardly breathed a sigh of relief that he was allowed to leave at last.

He bowed before the Dark Lord; he suddenly felt nauseous, but he had to withstand the urge of throwing up. It would not do to show weakness now, if he was to go through with all of this…

Severus Snape Disapparated and found himself in Hogsmeade, near the Shrieking Shack. As soon as he had appeared, he was so violently sick that it took him a while to recover from it. He felt so very empty—not just physically but also mentally. Finally managing to scramble to his feet again, he headed in direction of Hogwarts; but instead of transfiguring the pencil he had turned his broomstick into earlier back into its original shape, he decided to return to Hogwarts on foot. He needed to think or rather _not _think; he was confused; his mind in complete disarray; his body shaking. 

He knew he had done it for a good purpose: to overthrow the Dark Lord and bring justice to him and his followers. Justice. The first crime Tom Riddle had committed had been a deed of justice—the murder of his Muggle father who had abandoned Tom's mother, so that, when she died Tom had to grow up in a Muggle orphanage.

_Justice to him and his followers… I, too, am one of his followers. I'll fly to him when he summons me—again; I'll act like one of them—again. How long will it take until I start thinking like one of them—again?_

Completely lost in his thoughts, Severus almost started when he realized he had already reached the gates of Hogwarts Castle; the castle itself looming high above him only a short distance away. However, its windows were lighted as though it wanted to welcome him back. Hogwarts, Severus Snape's only safe haven…

After entering Hogwarts Castle, he immediately went to the dungeons. He couldn't face Dumbledore just yet; he had to settle down a bit first. Severus entered the Potions dungeon. School would start in a few days, he realized as his eyes scanned the classroom quickly. Soon this room would be filled with students—some of them potential future Death Eaters, some of them _certain_ future Death Eaters… Most of the latter Severus knew already since their fathers—and, in some cases, their mothers, too—were among the Dark Lord's supporters. Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, Nott… All of them had sons who were in Slytherin House, Severus Snape's house.

Severus walked towards the sink; the gargoyle seemed to sneer at him as Severus bent and splashed a gush of ice-cold water in his face. And again. And again… Then, as his hands felt as though they were slowly turning to ice, his face equally cold and freezing, he looked into the mirror above the gargoyle's head. His eyes met the ones of his reflection. It said nothing. It only looked back at him as if he were looking into a Muggle mirror… After a few seconds, however, the face in the mirror closed its eyes for a moment, shook its head sadly and intoned the very words Severus Snape had been thinking all the way up to Hogwarts, "What have you done?" Severus could have sworn he'd heard it say his name before he smashed the mirror with his fist. He drew back and hit his reflection full in the face. The glass shattered, small pieces of it pierced his skin, drawing blood. He did not even feel the pain because his hands were still so cold from the icy water…

Resting his hands on the rim of the stone sink, he screwed his eyes shut and sighed deeply, painfully…

Then, taking a deep breath, he straightened himself. Now he was ready.

Heading straight for Dumbledore's office, he whispered the password to the gargoyle, which slid to the side, revealing the entrance to the spiral staircase. Severus walked up the staircase, not bothering that it would have brought him up if he had stood still.

As Severus reached to open the door, it was opened from inside. Dumbledore was already expecting him.

"Severus," he said.

"Headmaster," Snape replied, as Dumbledore beckoned him in—a gesture that reminded Severus appallingly of the way the Dark Lord had pointed at Karkaroff shortly before Severus had cast the curse—and indicated for him to sit down in one of the armchairs in front of the fireplace, which Severus did. Dumbledore sat down in another armchair.

"So? What happened?" he prompted the Potions master to speak.

And Snape did speak. He told the headmaster everything. Every single horrible second he reported in detail; the truth and nothing but the truth. He left nothing out and added nothing to the actual events…

"And then, finally!" he said. "I was dismissed. I didn't even need the Portkey you gave me in case I would be discovered or severely injured… The one that would have taken me to the infirmary if I needed to leave quickly…" Dumbledore nodded, apparently fully understanding that Severus was prattling on about ifs and would-have-beens to calm himself a bit after having to relive some of the darkest hours of his entire life.

Severus took a deep breath. "He welcomed me back. I am back in his Inner Circle…"

"You're lucky he didn't kill you, Severus. You're a much better actor than I could ever have hoped. I am just glad that you're on our side."

Severus Snape tossed back a glass of brandy that the headmaster had put onto the small table that stood in the proximity. Until now, he hadn't even realized it had been there. It was a good vintage, but Severus hardly noticed its taste. "I don't think I can stand this much longer—this acting against everything I know is right. It feels like betrayal, which is exactly what it was when I carried out his orders. Karkaroff might not have been an innocent man; hell, of course, he wasn't! But he put a certain amount of trust in me nonetheless; and I handed him over—not only to Voldemort, but to Death. I—"

"I understand, Severus," Dumbledore said calmly, so calmly that it infuriated Snape immensely.

"No, you don't. You don't have the slightest idea!" he shouted.

"It must have been pure unconcealed horror; that much I can see plainly written on your face," the old man continued in his quiet and calm voice.

"You're right about that. But there's more…" Severus said, his voice now barely above a whisper. "I enjoyed it. When I uttered the words—the words that, in essence, doomed me to a life—no, _existence_—in Azkaban—some sick part of me enjoyed it, and it wanted more. The thrill of power, of utter control—the power over life and death in my hands—surging through my body, was almost more than I could bear… It felt so familiar, so horribly familiar…" His voice trembled as much as he did.

The headmaster was silent. He must be expecting there was more to come. Once Severus really started talking, spilling his soul out in front of him, Dumbledore wouldn't interrupt him. Especially since something like that happened about once in one or two decades. However, Severus had to get rid of all those things that were on his mind; he had to share them to make the burden lighter to bear…

Thus, he spoke again. He had raised his head and looked Dumbledore straight into the eyes. "When I returned after… you know what… I looked into the mirror over the sink in the Potions dungeon; and for the first time in my life—as though a mask had been ripped off my face—I saw myself as the monster that I am, that I've always been. Don't deny it! I always thought I knew who and what I was; but the face—the eyes—that looked back at me—I did not know that man!" He gazed intently at Dumbledore for a few seconds; then he put one hand over his tired eyes and slumped back into the armchair. "I don't know who I am anymore!"

Dumbledore looked thoughtful. "I know it was much to ask of you to humiliate yourself in that way to be welcomed back into Voldemort's fold. The two of us knew what would be asked of you if you got this far; that's why I asked you if you were prepared for what lay ahead of you, remember? You said you were, but—"

"No one in his right mind is _prepared_ for something like that!"

"—but no one in his right mind could ever be really prepared for the mission you underwent on my orders," Dumbledore confirmed. "I'm sorry. You must believe me that I am more sorry than there are words in the English language to express it with. If there had been any other way…"

"I know. You're sorry, I'm sorry, we're all sorry," said Severus with a sigh.

"You should get some sleep, Severus."

"I don't know if I can ever sleep again."

"The tired always fall asleep no matter if they want to or not."

"The problem is staying asleep when your deeds come to haunt you in your dreams. When they do you had better see to it that you don't dream at all." Severus rose and turned towards the door. Dumbledore also stood and reached to squeeze the other man's shoulder reassuringly.

"One day you'll sleep again—without a potion to ward off the dreams."

"A nice fiction…" Severus said darkly.

"You do look very tired, exhausted."

"That might be the case because I am." Severus opened the door.

"Good night, Severus. May the demons not come to haunt you. You did well, even though it does not look and feel like it…"

"Good night, Headmaster," Snape murmured and closed the door behind him. Then he walked down the spiral staircase that led down to the third floor. As the gargoyle moved back into its respective place, Severus sighed. He would have appreciated it if he could have cried now, but he had no tears left. Not for himself. No self-pity, he admonished himself. He had chosen this fate for himself a long time ago without thinking about the fact that the consequences of this choice would affect the greater part of his life as severely as this… Now he had to suffer the consequences. It was terrible… Yet—to Severus Snape—it felt like justice…

These were his thoughts as he descended another flight of stairs, walked along the deserted Defence Against the Dark Arts corridor, then another staircase, another corridor… until he finally reached the Entrance Hall. Only a few moments later he had already rushed down the staircase to the dungeons where his chambers awaited him. Cold and empty. Just as he felt… just as he was.

However, Severus did not go to sleep immediately. He decided that, if he were really going to sleep, the Dark Lord's laughter would not haunt him in his nightmares. Thus, he did not go directly to his rooms but went to the Potions dungeon first—into the classroom adjoining his office—to brew some Dreamless Sleep Potion. Actually, he brewed a great deal more than would be necessary that night. He felt he would need it—tomorrow… and tomorrow… and tomorrow.

And he did.

~*~*~*~*~

**_Quotes and scenes I shamelessly stole ;-) from other people will be credited in an additional chapter right after the epilogue is posted._**

**_If you review—even if it's just a short note like 'I've read it'—, please leave me an e-mail address, so I may thank you properly._**

**Next chapter:**

We leave Severus be for a while and instead switch to present time and to Harry at the Dursleys, get sunburn, meet Dudley's girlfriend and celebrate Harry's birthday.

~*~*~*~*~

**Author's note:** Okay, here I'd like to say thank you to everyone who reviewed the first time around. I'd almost feared this story would go completely unnoticed and unread among that load of HP fics out there. It's good to know when someone made the effort to read all of this. You made me feel so special.

Therefore, big '**thank you's** go to (in order of review-appearance):

**_elvenprincess, antguillotine@cs.com, Deity, SammiSnape, RandomReviewer 84, AmZ _**(yes, even you), **_Brina, abcjvc, Blaise A. Snape _**(whom I made friends with via this story!!!), **_avaked, _/**then there's a nameless one…**/, _flamearrows, aurendel, Lauren, Firebolt 2000, SparkySparkles, Whitefeather, Flik, Me? _**(The answer to your question is No.), **_Lady Jeanetta, Ruwentha _**(I took your suggestions very seriously and carefully revised the parts you mentioned.), **_Kiwi_**

I'm so addicted to reading reviews now… You gave me a more than sixty of them already! Thank you! Group hug, guys!!!

Oh, and my secret ambition is having 2000 reviews (lol) by the end of 2003. *hint, hint* LOL! Just so you know. Am I greedy or what? ;-)****


	2. Journey in my Head

Chapter 1: Journey in My Head

**_Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed,  
The dear repose for limbs with travel tired;   
But then begins a journey in my head,   
To work my mind, when body's work's expired:   
For then my thoughts, from far where I abide,   
Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee,   
And keep my drooping eyelids open wide,   
Looking on darkness which the blind do see  
Save that my soul's imaginary sight  
Presents thy shadow to my sightless view,   
Which, like a jewel hung in ghastly night,   
Makes black night beauteous and her old face new.   
Lo! thus, by day my limbs, by night my mind,   
For thee and for myself no quiet find._****__**

_—William Shakespeare, Sonnet No. 27_

Harry Potter sighed, wiped off the sweat from his forehead and ran a hand through his unruly black hair down to his neck that felt already as though it had been put in the microwave for ninety seconds. He'd get quite nasty sunburn; he was sure of this. No wonder, he had been clipping Aunt Petunia's rosebushes for… he glanced at his watch… five full hours already! 

"This would go much more smoothly if I were allowed to cast a Clipping Charm," Harry muttered irritably. What use was it to be a wizard when you were forbidden to use magic?

He felt exhausted, his lips dry as parchment, and it would be another hour until dinner. Not that that would be worth mentioning, but at least he would get out of the sun.

He sighed again. If only Ginny were here. If only there were someone who smiled at him, who talked to him, treated him like a human being! Even Colin Creevey would be welcome now. He could take as much photos as he wanted, Harry would sign every single one of them if necessary—if only he were not so… alone. The Dursleys were no company. Thus, even with three people almost constantly in his proximity, he was completely and utterly alone.

Harry desperately hoped Ginny would send him another one of her letters soon again. Granted, Harry had received one only yesterday and had written back instantaneously as soon as he'd read it—with Pigwidgeon (Hedwig had been locked in her cage by Uncle Vernon for making such a racket—_again_—so Harry couldn't write to Ginny without her writing first). 

Pig, a small fluffy tennis-ball of an owl, was now Ginny's since her brother Ron had gotten a larger one, a brand-new light brown barn owl, when he had been made a prefect in his and Harry's fifth year. Harry was glad that Ron had become a prefect. He had almost feared it would be him (he would have felt as though he had taken something from Ron who had always wanted to be noticed for more than only for being _just another Weasley _and the best friend of Harry Potter).

Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the boy who had defeated the Dark Lord, the boy who was rich and famous and had everything he wanted… except a family who loved him, for which he would have given all of the above without a second thought.

The Weasleys were _almost_ like a family to him; they—particularly Mrs Weasley—gave him a sense of belonging. Ron was what Harry would have wanted a brother to be like. And Ginny… Harry smiled at the thought of her. Yes, she had been his girlfriend for over a year and a half already…

The Dursleys, on the other hand, were no family to him; they were not _his_ family. They despised him because he was a wizard, just like his father and mother had been. And they were as Muggle (non-magical) as a human being could ever be. Harry's mother had been a Muggle-born witch, a witch from a family that consisted (almost) entirely of non-magical folk. Aunt Petunia was Lily Potter's sister. Petunia had hated her sister for being special, she had been jealous that their parents had been so proud of having a witch in the family. And that was the reason she despised Harry so immensely, too. Because he was different, _abnormal_, as un-Dursleyish as possible, just like his mother and father—and Harry was glad that he was.

James and Lily Potter were dead. They had been killed by the most vicious and evil Dark wizard of the twentieth century—Tom Marvolo Riddle who had given himself the name Lord Voldemort, commonly called He Who Must Not Be Named or You-Know-Who, since people were too afraid to even utter his real name. Lily Potter had died protecting little Harry from Voldemort and he had killed her… But when he'd tried to curse Harry, who had been a little over a year old then, the curse had somehow rebounded and left Harry unscathed except for a thin, lightning bolt shaped scar on his forehead, while it had hit Voldemort and weakened him considerably. 

It had taken him more than thirteen years to come back fully—and Harry had been involved in his resurrection. The Dark Lord had, with the help of his servant Wormtail, used Harry's blood to come back and had then intended to finish what he had started such a long time ago. Harry, however, had escaped and even managed to bring Cedric Diggory's body back, the second Hogwarts champion in the Triwizard Tournament… Harry still felt guilty about his death. If he hadn't insisted that they take the Triwizard Cup together, Cedric would still be alive… It was a comfort that no one seemed to really blame him for this—not even Mr and Mrs Diggory or Cho Chang, who had been very close to Cedric. That was a small comfort but it was something. And the memory wasn't quite as lively as it had been anymore…

Harry had a small scar on his right forearm now where Wormtail had cut him, Wormtail, who had betrayed Lily and James Potter when they had made him their Secret Keeper so they could go into hiding. The Dark Lord would never have found them had Peter Pettigrew (Wormtail was just Peter's Animagus form's name; he had been a rat—literally) not delivered the information about their whereabouts willingly. He had been responsible for their deaths and he had blamed Sirius Black, another one of James Potter's best friends—and Harry's godfather—for their deaths and for the deaths of twelve Muggles and his own, too. Peter had faked his death by blowing up a street full of Muggles when Sirius had tried to stall him. He had openly accused him of betraying his best friends and then blown up the street… 

For twelve years he had then been living as a rat by the name of Scabbers with the Weasley family, while Sirius had spent the same amount of time in Azkaban, the wizard prison that had been guarded by Dementors, creatures who sucked the happiness out of you and sometimes even sucked their prisoners' souls out when they had been sentenced to the Dementor's Kiss. It was a fate worse than death, since the body was still alive but an empty shell… However, Sirius had escaped from Azkaban, when he had seen an issue of the Daily Prophet which had had a picture of the entire Weasley family on the front page—including Scabbers, the pet rat, Wormtail in his Animagus form, who had been at Hogwarts with Ron. Ron had owned him then, and thus he had been in the perfect position to strike against Harry as soon as Voldemort would call…

Sirius had wanted to kill Wormtail, but the whole wizarding world had thought he was after Harry. Thus, Cornelius Fudge, the Minister for Magic, had stationed the Dementors at Hogwarts to catch Black as soon as he showed himself. And Harry, too, had thought he was in danger, which he hadn't been, after all—at least not from Sirius. The Dementors, however, were an entirely different matter. They made him hear his parents' deaths, see the green flash of Avada Kedavra, the Killing curse, and their presence made him faint.

Once they had even almost _kissed_ Harry—he still shuddered at the thought—and Sirius had also been close to receiving the kiss, but had been saved by Harry and Hermione who had rescued him through the window of Professor Flitwick's office on the back of Buckbeak, a Hippogriff who should have been executed, too. Sirius had then escaped along with Buckbeak. Hagrid had been so happy about that, since he blamed himself for the fact that Buckbeak had almost died. The Hippogriff had attacked Draco Malfoy who had been a true bastard—that was what Malfoy was best at—and had taunted the poor animal into attacking him, although Hagrid had told the students how to approach and treat a Hippogriff properly…

Sirius' innocence had been proved shortly before Harry's sixteenth birthday, and Wormtail had received the Dementor's Kiss. It had been only a short time after that, that the Dementors had abandoned Azkaban Fortress and joined the Dark Lord, just as Dumbledore had foretold. And thus, he had sent Hagrid as an envoy to the Giants who had come to aid Hogwarts when it had been attacked only a few weeks ago. Dumbledore had been prepared for the attack, however, since Severus Snape—the greasy-haired, hooked-nosed Potions master, who hated Harry and yet saved his life over and over again—worked as a spy for the headmaster. Snape had joined the Death Eaters again, as far as Harry could tell, pretending to be a loyal servant of Voldemort, thus gathering information for Dumbledore…

The Potions master had changed during the last months. Often he had not even glared at Neville Longbottom when he'd blown up or melted another cauldron, let alone taken away points (which strangely had as a result that Neville's memory concerning the order, in which the ingredients had to be added to a potion, had gotten considerably better). It had almost startled Harry not to be constantly given detention for breathing too loud or smiling a little too broadly at Ron and Hermione's bickering when they should rather have brewed a potion. 

However, on other occasions—as rare as they were—it took not much at all to make Snape virtually explode and give detentions as though he were handing out candy—not that he'd ever do that. This man was obviously under _a lot _of stress—no wonder when you lived in constant fear of being discovered as a traitor by the Dark Lord's minions… Not many people knew about Snape's act, as a means of safety. Harry was sure no one in the Ministry knew about it. The reason why he was sure about this, one word: Fudge. That said everything. Fudge hadn't believed him a single word he'd said when he explained what had happened at the Triwizard Tournament… He hadn't believed Dumbledore either; and he hadn't believed Snape, who had even revealed the Dark Mark, the sign that was burnt into every Death Eater's forearm—a skull with a snake protruding from its mouth. It had been livid. And the way Harry understood it, it gave a very sharp pain when the Dark Lord summoned his followers. Harry had seen him do so once.

Since the return of the Dark Lord, a shadow had fallen over the wizarding world. Many of Harry's fellow students had lost their parents or relatives by the hands of the Death Eaters during the last two years and some people he had known from seeing had died, too. People he had met but hadn't even known their names…

"Dinner is ready!" the shrill voice of Aunt Petunia pierced through the silence that had previously only been interrupted by the chirping of birds. They fell silent instantly at the sound of this yell.

Perfect timing it was. Harry had just finished the last rosebush. Ugly yellow rosebushes they were, not pink or red, not even pure white—Harry would have liked those; he would have sent Ginny one or two (Pig couldn't carry too much weight)—but yellow ones that very quickly turned into different shades of ugly browns after it had been raining; although, now that Harry had tended to them, they looked almost pretty, which they wouldn't be for very long.

Harry tiredly made his back towards the house wishing like never before he could stay with Sirius or the Weasleys for the entire summer. But no, the protection spells required a blood relative near him for a few weeks to work properly. And since there were only the Dursleys—or rather Aunt Petunia as his only blood relative—left of his family, that's were he got to be—for much too long a time, if one asked him… Only then was he allowed to go to the Weasleys' for the remainder of the summer; Sirius unfortunately was too busy fighting the Dark Lord, but he wrote to Harry as often as he could… Weren't there any better spells, ones that would protect him without the Dursleys constantly making his life miserable? Was there not a single curse, _anything_, that would rid the wizarding world of Voldemort?

As he entered the hall, he could already hear the voice of the one person he despised most of all. His cousin Dudley, that stupid, fat bully. Well, he wasn't that fat any more. He had lost quite a bit of weight—not that Aunt Petunia's attempts at making him keep his diet had been successful. No, it was sheer vanity! Dudley had discovered that girls didn't like it when one ate and looked like a pig—and Dudley had had practice in either one of those things. Hagrid had once hexed Dudley so that a pigtail had sprouted out of his backside. Harry still doubled over in laughter at that image.

Be that as it may, Dudley had discovered the girls, one particular girl to be exact. Dudley actually had a girlfriend—or at least he claimed to have one—a fact that seemed to have made his already oversized ego grow indirectly proportional to his loss of weight.

And right on cue, Harry heard a shrill, high-pitched, penetrating, artificial laughter echoing in the corridor outside the living room. Normally this house had no echoes at all… perhaps it was only echoing in Harry's head? Possible, since this girl's laughter was even worse than Aunt Petunia's most piercing yell. 

Harry had a presentiment about whom that killing laughter belonged to: Pat. Dudley had constantly been talking about her, Patricia this, Patricia that… all summer!

Harry hadn't really believed half of what he'd heard; it had been too awful to only imagine that girl. He had even kind of wanted to meet her, see if Dudley told the truth… 

_Be careful what you wish for. You just might get it._

Right now, Harry would have given anything to make that voice stop wailing. Dudley must suffer from earache already. That might just explain his recent obnoxiousness. Another explanation might have been that Dudley was on a constant sugar-low, something he hadn't been since Aunt Petunia's attempt at setting him on a rather strict grapefruit diet.

"I know, Mr Dursley," she said in her wailing voice, and Harry could hear her give Dudley a noisy smooch on the cheek—or at least he hoped it was only his cheek. Yuck. The thought alone that… No, no, don't think about this. Think about something nice instead.

"Sure you do, Patty," Uncle Vernon answered. "And I sure hope Dudders here—."

"Dad!" Dudley wailed, the pitch of his voice strangely equalling his girlfriend's. Harry couldn't suppress a small snigger as he casually walked into the room. "How many times do I have to tell you? Don't call me D—Oh." Dudley broke off when he grew aware of Harry's presence and muttered something to his girlfriend.

"Hello," she said frostily. Harry stared at her. "So _you_ are…"

"Er… I'm Harry. Harry Potter. Nice to meet you," Harry said, automatically extending his hand for her to shake, which she did, reluctantly, as though she were touching something poisonous; and she smiled broadly and very coldly as she did so. 

Harry thought he'd never blink again. She looked so… well… like a younger version of Aunt Petunia, a dark-haired, not quite as bony version of her, but the face was as though one had ripped it off Aunt Petunia and plastered it on this girl. 

This did not really surprise Harry. Being raised like Dudley had been… it just had to result in a serious Oedipus complex and _voilà!_ there was the proof to nip all otherwise speculations in the bud.

As shocking as the thought was, Harry was sure those two had found each other. Both as Dursleyish as one could ever be. You had to be that to be liked by Aunt Petunia.

"Patricia Henderson," she still smiled, yet the smile did not reach her eyes. Dudley must have told her _things_ about Harry. He didn't even want to know what he had been telling her during the last year. St Brutus's Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys or something like that? Harry didn't really remember the full name of the school he had been supposed to pretend he attended when Aunt Marge, Uncle Vernon's sister Marjorie Dursley, had come for a week's stay four years ago. But he was positive that that was the least Dudley could have told her. Not that Harry really cared—although it would have been nice to have someone around who didn't look at him as if he were something that deserved to be stepped on and smashed.

"Enough, enough, my dearest," Aunt Petunia interrupted. "Dinner's waiting already—and _you_," she added, having noticed Harry, "you wash your hands first and don't you dare walk into the kitchen with your dirty clothes still on."

Harry bit back a sarcastic reply such as 'If you'd rather have me walk in there naked, I'm all for it…' Instead he settled for, "Yes, Aunt Petunia," since he didn't want to risk not getting anything to eat at all, turned and walked up the stairs into his room. He grabbed some fresh clothes, went into the bathroom, took a nice and cold shower that cooled his sunburnt neck and back deliciously, hurriedly changed into his fresh clothes and was back down in the kitchen within a matter of minutes. Dudley didn't eat so much and so fast anymore, but better be quick nonetheless.

Not for the first time in his life, Harry asked himself why he let them treat him this way. He was almost seventeen years old, for heaven's sake! Shouldn't he fight them or something? Harry Potter, the boy who'd fought against Voldemort or one of his minions every single year since he had attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, couldn't stand up against three Muggles who insisted on treating him like dirt? Why was it that Harry let them go through with this?

The answer was almost too simple.

It was not in his nature to fight them. He was too kind to do that. He may have a sarcastic streak in his character, some kind of grim humour, but he was neither insensitive nor vicious nor anything else that he would have had to be to strike against them. His only weapons against them were words—and he paid dearly for every single one of them, in case they slipped, sometimes fairly unbidden, over his lips.

Thus, Harry still merely kept counting the days until the day he'd leave them. Ten out of twelve months in a year he didn't have to see them, didn't even have to think about them. Ten out of twelve months he was happy, accepted and loved.

Harry sat down in his chair.

Dudley didn't occupy the long side of the table all by himself anymore, so 'Patty' could sit next to him.

Harry shuddered involuntarily at the sight of them, trying not to listen to their hushed conversation that consisted mostly of 'Patty-pumpkin's and 'Duddy-darling's, as he wolfed down his dinner—sneaking a bit of bacon and small pieces of bread into his pocket—for Hedwig who couldn't fly out to hunt as she was still locked inside the cage. It broke Harry's heart to have her look at him with her large round owl eyes and hoot sadly, especially when he had to send his letters with Pig or Errol or whatever owl his correspondence partner used. 

Harry knew he did well to eat fast, since mealtimes were the Dursleys' favourite times to insult and verbally abuse him. Harry found it harder and harder to hold his tongue when they did that. Perhaps this was because he wanted to at least give them a reason to treat him abysmally. Perhaps he wanted to _deserve_ being treated the way he was. He wanted to actually _deserve_ every rude word, every slap, every punch (even those of Dudley's). On the other hand… Perhaps he merely had to get it out of his system?

And as if Harry had magicked him into doing it, Uncle Vernon, on whose face Harry could see that he was in a mood that rivalled Dudley's when he was at his worst (of course, only when it concerned Harry), exclaimed, "If that cursed owl continues to make such a racket, I'm going to have it for dinner one day, I swear to you, boy!" 

"If Hedwig weren't locked up in her cage, she wouldn't make half the racket she now does," Harry muttered. "If she makes any racket at all."

Harry waited for them to send him up to his room, which they normally did when he spoke up at the table, and they did it at once. That could be expected. 

The considerable advantage of that was however, that Harry couldn't very well do the dish-wash if they sent him up to stay there ("And don't you dare come down until tomorrow!"). Perhaps, Harry's subconscious tricked him into speaking up unasked and in the way he did it.

Harry didn't care about them any longer. He merely left the kitchen and went up into his room to do some homework.

"Hi, Hedwig. I've got something for you," he said, shoving the food he'd nicked from the table through the bars of her cage. Hedwig accepted, affectionately giving Harry's finger a little nibbling peck. "I'm sorry, old girl, I'd really let you out if I could. If only I could…"

Hedwig hooted sadly but encouragingly as if she wanted to say, "I'm sorry, too. But it's only a few more weeks… If you can take it, so can I."

"Good night, old girl. I'll try to sleep."

**~*~*~**

Harry once again had the blankets over his head, a book propped up before him, a piece of parchment resting on the opposite page of the one he was reading, a quill in one hand and a torchlight in the other. He was doing his homework in exactly the way he had been forced to do it every holiday he'd spent at the Dursleys'. In secret.

In an unobserved moment, he had once again been able to pick the lock on the cupboard under the stairs and had sneaked his school things up into his room, carefully covering up his break-in. The Dursleys hadn't noticed anything as Harry's trunk and broomstick were still sitting in there. But Harry doubted they even chanced a glance in there; those things were magical, and magic was something not to be trifled with.

Anyway, Harry had always been one of the few boys who really _wanted_ to do their homework. He had always had to write his essays in secret or quickly during the last days of the holidays when he was at The Burrow; once he had even written them at Florean Fortescue's Ice-cream Parlour in Diagon Alley. That had been very nice, as Florean had not only provided a steady supply of chocolate-nut ice cream but also a lot of information on medieval witch-burnings. 

Not so this time.

Harry's Transfiguration and History of Magic essays were already finished. So was Charms. And as Moody had retired after last end of term, Harry didn't have any Defence Against the Dark Arts homework (Yes, there'd be a new teacher for DADA. Not that that would have been unheard of.). Which left him, among others, with Divination. He'd decided to do that particular essay as soon as he was at the Weasleys'. Ron was so creative when it came to making up a not yet covered death scenario for Harry. Should he be worried that Ron was putting so much effort into planning and plotting Harry's untimely demise?

Harry chuckled, pushed up his glasses, and returned his concentration to the task at hand, his quill scribbling furiously but as silently as possible. The Dursleys had quite sensitive ears when it came to any sounds coming from Harry's room. Harry idly asked himself if they'd come in one day and forbid him to breathe.

Another Potions essay. A quite nasty one. It looked like Snape didn't like the thought of any student enjoying his or her stay at home. As usual, it was long, complex and complicated. It was about Polyjuice Potion and was to be regarded as a preparatory lesson for next year's curriculum. As a consequence, no student should be able to display too much knowledge—well, with the exception of Hermione, perhaps. But if Harry hadn't had experience with that particular potion, he would have been completely lost, especially since he didn't have any access to a wizarding library to look some things up. But he had to be careful. Snape was suspicious enough already. He still was.

Harry massaged the bridge of his nose and stifled a yawn, deciding to leave it at that for today… Today? He glanced at the clock. It wasn't today anymore. It was already tomorrow. And it was his seventeenth birthday!

And that meant something else. Only two more weeks and Harry would go to the Weasleys' for the remainder of the summer and escape the Dursleys and Patty-_pumpkin_ who had been here visiting Dudley and torturing Harry's ears whenever he came in overhearing range. Harry avoided the sight of the two together. It made images pop up in his mind that he really didn't need, thank you very much. 

Harry rather thought about Ginny, his mind journeying back to the last Christmas holidays at Hogwarts when Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny had had Gryffindor Tower all to themselves—and the boys' dormitory had belonged to Harry and Ginny alone for two weeks (as soon as Ginny had given her brother a good talking-to along the lines, 'Do I interfere in your life? Then keep out of mine!' Harry had stood by at that moment, blushing crimson, as he could almost see on Ron's face where his thoughts had been heading—and not without reason…). Anyway, it had resulted in fourteen nights that very much contributed to Harry's talent at conjuring up a Patronus extraordinaire; a thought to hold on to when he was extremely miserable which, as he lived with the Dursleys, he seemed to be constantly.

Ginny had been so beautiful. How her lovely brown eyes had sparkled when she'd smiled. How her hair, by now well past her shoulders and slightly wavy, had been spread all over the pillow… Her softness, her little hands, her deliciously smooth and hot skin, the few freckles she'd had in winter almost invisible on her flushed skin…

One could easily compare it to flying, Harry's most ecstatic experience until the moment he and Ginny had made love to each other.

To Harry it still felt unreal when his thoughts journeyed back. Stolen hours those had been. Stolen from the world, stolen from Voldemort who still wanted Harry dead if he couldn't have him by his side. 

Dead.

But Harry should have died how many times already? Yet, he was alive; and he intended to stay alive for quite some time longer. And if there were nothing else to live for, the thought of Ginny's kisses alone would have been enough to fight for every single minute of life. 

Ginny loved him. 

Harry had almost thought he'd never hear those words spoken towards him. After all, until Ginny had said them, he hadn't been told that he was being loved, that he was needed. Not a single living soul had ever said the simple three words, 'I love you' to Harry—until Ginny had.

For a moment, Harry had been dumbstruck, unable to answer.

"I love you, Harry," she'd whispered, her blushing face not an inch from his. "I love you."

"You—you _love_ me? Gin… I…" he had stuttered helplessly. "Oh, god, I love you more than I can say."

Harry set aside the book, parchment and quill, carefully stoppering the inkbottle. After all, it was his birthday! Harry would present himself with a completely Potions-essay-free day!

In her cage, Hedwig ruffled her feathers and, several times, hooted softly.

"What's up, old girl?"

She hooted again, tilting her head towards the window.

Harry jumped to his feet and looked out. 

Several owls were sitting in the tree slightly opposite his window. Not ordinary owls, but ones that bore letters and packages of various sizes, as various as the owls themselves were.

Harry opened the window to grant the small flock of owls entry. They rose as one and soared in, dropping packets and parcels onto the bed and then waited until Harry would relieve them of the letters that were tied to their legs.

Harry recognized one of them as Ron's immediately. It was a brown barn owl, Athena (Ron called her 'Tina'), who had been carrying two parcels, one of which was very large.

One of the owls removed the letter on his or her own and took off immediately after it had delivered and gotten rid of its burden. That one must be Hermione's. She always sent presents or letters by a rented owl. Harry was used to that. Another one disappeared immediately.

Then there was Errol, bearing merely a letter.

Errol was lying spread-eagled on Harry's bed, his legs pointing at the ceiling, his chest heaving. His eyes were closed; he had definitely fainted. Harry gently took the thick letter that was bound to Errol's leg and carefully placed Errol on the rather shabby and thin pillow before he opened the envelope that bore Harry's name in Ginny's generous and loopy scrawl.

_Dear Harry,_

_Happy Birthday! I haven't forgotten to get a little something for you, don't you worry. I just thought that I'd save Errol from another almost heart-attack and send you only a light piece of parchment… (Ron has already sent his owl on his way, the git. I could have saved Errol the trouble entirely. Pig isn't back yet either. Stupid as I am, I lent him to Fred(!). No idea what he wants to use him for… __A Guinea Pig? __I've got to save him!!! Fred!!!) _

_Ten minutes later. I'm back. Pig's fine. He's just not in a state to deliver any mail. Don't worry. He's just turned crimson. Looks cute; but can you imagine your relatives' (or any other Muggles') faces if they saw an owl the size of a red Muggle tennis ball fluttering past their windows? Anyway, now that's settled, I can return to what I actually was about to write…_

_Errol hasn't collapsed again, has he? Between you and me, it's a miracle that Errol hasn't snuffed it already. He looks as dead on his feet as ever. I suppose he'll still look and faint the same in ten years. Just let him rest a bit, give him a mouthful of water, and he'll be just fine._

(Harry did so, before reading on. Errol blinked wearily, gave something that could be called an owl-language thanks, hobbled to a spot where he found himself apparently quite comfortable, and rested, his head hidden under his wing.)

_I'm very much looking forward to your visit. Another two long weeks! How am I ever going to survive them without you here? Hermione's coming over, too. You can imagine that Ron's quite eager to have her here. With You-Know-Who on the loose, it's simply not very safe to meet somewhere else but protected areas, especially for Muggle-borns. By the way, the wards on our house have been improved considerably. They finished yesterday. With the recent Death Eater activities, I wasn't really surprised that Dad found it necessary. But I'm getting more and more worried, Harry._

_Gwen Madison (one of my classmates) lost her aunt and uncle in a Death Eater attack. She was supposed to spend some days with them. If they had struck only a day later, she would have been there! I hardly dare imagine…_

_The thing is, I knew those people, Harry. I talked to them! They weren't strangers like the other ones. Anything could happen. I'm scared. I'm scared that something might happen to my family or to the Grangers or you… _

_Bill and Charlie are here, too. They arrived just this morning and said they had some weeks off—although I believe they're here only to calm Mum. She's really anxious about our safety. She told us she'd only sleep well again as soon as we've safely arrived at Hogwarts again. That's another month to go…_

_Well, those weren't the pleasant news I'd have liked to report…_

_If you can, write back immediately. Write anything. I don't care what you write. I just want to know that you're all right. I hope the Dursleys aren't treating you too bad. By the way, we're still figuring out a way to come and get you that doesn't arouse too much suspicion. It's a pity the Muggles closed the fireplace. Floo powder would have been safe and easy…_

_We'll find a way, even if we have to get you the Muggle way (Dad would certainly like that)._

_I love you, Harry, and I miss you more than I can express in words,_

_Gin_

_PS: Ron has something to announce as soon as you arrive. He forbade everybody to tell you, as he wants to do that himself. Just one thing: He behaves eerily like Percy lately—although Fred and George wager that he's just rubbing it in. Percy is not amused._

Harry grinned. Percy was always good for a joke. He took everything much more seriously than it actually was. Although what exactly it was that Percy was not amused about, Harry couldn't tell. Or had Ron been—? Was it possible? Well, of course, it was possible. Ron would be delighted if that were so. It must be. Ron the Prefect must have become Ron the Head Boy.

Harry set the letter down and took the next. It bore Ron's untidy scrawl on it.

_Happy Birthday, Harry!_

_How are you doing? Silly question, I know. Everything about you is on the Ginny News every day—although she doesn't want me to read the letters you write to her… Should I grow suspicious? What naughty things are you writing to my sister?! Just kidding._

_I'm looking forward to your visit. Hermione agreed to come over too. I wish she were already here, and safe. A Muggle-born in the wizarding world these days… You catch my meaning, don't you? Fortunately, the Grangers are connected to the Floo network and had some security spells cast on their house. It's really a necessity. But who am I telling this?_

_By the way, I've something to tell you as soon as you're here. I just hope Ginny and Hermione can keep it a secret until then… Just a hint. Percy doesn't like it very much when I rub it in. He always says, "The way you behaved…" and so on and so on. You might have guessed already._

_Well, wouldn't want to keep you from opening your present any longer. Hope you enjoy it… You might just get the idea to test them on Dudley… Go ahead! Fred and George say he'd be a very good guinea pig. He could apply for a job at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes any time…_

_See you soon, mate!_

_Ron_

_PS: Mum sends her love—and a cake. Don't let Dudley go near it. It's Mum's best recipe, and the git doesn't deserve it. But as every cake she bakes is delicious, that doesn't really matter, does it? Ginny helped baking it, by the way…_

Harry smiled broadly. Yes, Ron had definitely been made Head Boy…

Now to open the packages.

The first (and relatively large one) contained indeed one of Mrs Weasley's delicious chocolate cakes, and a great deal of cookies and even some pumpkin pasties. "I don't think I'll be hungry the next weeks or so," Harry said, smiling. "Mmm. Yummy."

The considerably smaller parcel of Ron's contained a small treasure—at least when your name was Fred or George Weasley. A collection of _Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes—A Collection of the Most (In)Famous and Popular Tricks and Treats_.

If Harry were to use them on Dudley… After all, there were Ton-Tongue Toffees inside (very dangerous if you didn't have a wizard around to do a counterspell) and the famous Canary Creams, fake wands and an array of other things that Harry hadn't seen before. They must be very recent inventions, so Harry had better treat them with the utmost care, meaning he'd rather leave them untouched. With the twins, you never knew what triggered the magic that was hidden behind a rather unobtrusive-looking candy…

There was a fluttering noise outside the window, and another owl swept through. A middle-sized whitish-grey one bearing a very large longish parcel. Harry immediately recognized the bird as Sirius' owl. 

"Hi, Adhara," Harry said as she dropped the parcel onto the bed, landed on Harry's shoulder and stuck out her leg with a letter tied to it. Harry took the envelope, opened it and read (while Adhara affectionately nibbled on his ear),

_Hi, Harry,_

_How are you? Happy Birthday to you. I don't have much time as I'm off to a hearing at the Ministry (again! I should take permanent residence there). I hope they get everything done soon. It's good to know that I'll soon get my motorcycle back. And it wouldn't be too bad to be paid a few galleons for my involuntary stay in Azkaban either. It's the least they could do, really; after all that I've been involved in recently, I'd deserve at least the regular paycheque of a qualified Auror (which I once was, if you remember)._

_Darn bureaucracy. It's been more than a year already…_

_Anyway, I've finally gotten access to my Gringotts vault again. Remarkable how well the not very high (to put it mildly) interest rates work when you can't touch your fortune for fifteen or so years. So I figured, the least I could do is buy you a birthday present that would make up for every birthday of yours that I missed. It's nice to be able to hand out real presents and write on rather expensive parchment again, after years of sending you muddy footprints._

_Hoping to see you soon,_

_Sirius_

_PS: Looks like Remus is going to ask Adhara (my sister, not my owl) to marry him. I wonder when he'll get it out… Imagine that: My best friend will be my brother-in-law—as soon as he gets it out. You know Addi's famous for her cold-feet-syndrome… Moony would like to wish a happy birthday, too._

_Dear Harry, _(it went on in Remus' even handwriting)__

_Your godfather will never learn when to keep his mouth shut… And I can't even wish you a happy birthday now that he's already done that. But one thing I can do is spill the beans about something—or rather someone—he would like to keep to himself for the time being, right, Padfoot? Harry, the someone is a young woman by the name of Elizabeth, which _(here the writing became illegible, but the letter continued—in Sirius' handwriting…)

_That will do, Moony…_

Below that came Adhara's fluent script. Harry had only met her a few times but found her very much like Sirius. She'd written a short note, congratulating him to his birthday and telling him that she'd added a signed poster into the parcel Sirius had sent. (Adhara was a professional singer—when she wasn't working with the Order.)

Harry chuckled softly to himself, dropped the letter and settled for opening Sirius' parcel before anything else. It was longish and of considerable size. It was not the first time that Harry had received a parcel like that. And sure enough…

"A new broomstick!" Harry exclaimed before he could stop himself. He heard Uncle Vernon grunt in his sleep and prayed he wouldn't wake up.

After a minute or two of listening closely, Harry decided that it was safe to breathe normally again and began to inspect the broom. The logo FIREBOLT II was engraved on its shiny new handle. If Harry had his old Firebolt in his room, he would have compared them to see what exactly had been improved. (At the moment, it was locked in the cupboard under the staircase. "What do you need a broom for, except sweeping the floor?") But even so, it looked even more aerodynamic than any broomstick he'd ever seen before.

"Wow," Harry whispered in awe, "Sirius, it's great." Then he chuckled. If one of the Dursleys saw Harry moon over a broomstick, they'd send him off to the Muggle equivalent of St. Mungo's faster than he could say 'Quidditch Captain'.

And the poster from Adhara was there, too. It was carefully rolled. After a quick look at it (it was from The Phantom of the Opera), Harry safely put it away. As soon as he had his own apartment or even house, he might frame it and stick it to the wall in the entrance hall or so. But to be able to do that, he'd have to keep it hidden from greedy Dursley-hands.

The next letter was from Hermione.

_Happy Birthday, Harry,_

_Italy is great. I've included some cards and photos, by the way. If the Muggles knew the real reason why they simply can't get the Leaning Tower of Pisa stand straight… Anyway, it's fantastic. We must have seen half of Italy by now. You wouldn't believe how much magic is involved in everything in this country. I've taken so many notes about everything; I just hope I can use them for an essay or something. It's so interesting that some teacher simply must want us to know about all those things. _

_Anyway, I hope you don't have to join Dudley in a diet again. Don't get me wrong, but you tend to look dreadful when you've only eaten small slices of grapefruit for weeks. Perhaps you should ask Sirius to come over and scare the Dursleys a bit? He strikes me as the kind of man who'd enjoy such a thing greatly. Somehow, he's still the Marauder… How's he doing? The bureaucratic procedures should be done soon and then he'll finally be able to live a normal life again and have a family. God knows he deserves everything good you can think of. Have you heard of him lately? (Stupid question, I know. If only I could use an Erasing Charm…)_

_You're visiting the Weasleys too! This is so great. All of us together for two weeks. I must ask Ron to finally teach me a bit about Quidditch. I can't bear the way he looks at me when I once again display my absolute ignorance concerning the Chudley Cannons and Quidditch in general. I already read my copy of Quidditch Through the Ages numerous times, but it seems to be not enough. If Ron knew as much about Transfiguration and Charms as he does about Quidditch, he'd be a genius._

_Well, I'll see you in two weeks._

_Hermione_

_PS: I almost forgot. I am Head Girl! You're probably going to say, 'Why, of course. I knew it. Who else?' But seriously. I didn't really believe it until I got the letter. Mum and Dad are so proud!_

_PPS: I hope you like your present…_

Harry tore open the parcel that bore his name in Hermione's handwriting. There was a writing set inside, consisting of non-blotching ink and a quill that prevented you from writing illegibly. 'Your notes never looked more professional,' it read.

He grinned. That was so typical Hermione. She was the one who always sent useful presents. But it was really exquisite. The picture on the front showed a little bearded wizard who kept advertising the content of the box. Words appeared in a little bubble along with little pictures. 'The ink inside an intricately ornamented refillable bottle', it read. 'The eagle feather quill equipped with a very fine unbreakable nib.'

Harry gently set it aside for the time being.

There was another letter, one that Harry hadn't seen before because of the almost fantastic arrivals and departs of owls. Harry had never before been showered in owls and their respective letters and parcels as he was now. 

It bore the emblem of the Ministry of Magic.

"I haven't done any illegal magic," Harry muttered as he opened the envelope and unfolded the parchment.

_Dear Mr Potter,_

_We are pleased to inform you that as of this instant you fall no longer under the _Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery_. _

(Of course! Ron had received his letter five months ago when at Hogwarts! Harry had completely forgotten about it…)

_At the age of seventeen, you are being regarded as an adult wizard even though you haven't graduated yet. You may also apply for an Apparation license as soon as you see fit. Your teachers or guardian(s) might be the right address to help you decide when you should start. Regard this only as a reminder. It is completely optional. _

_As to the use of magic, however, we must advise you to act with the utmost care as you live in a Muggle area._

("Not for much longer," Harry muttered.)

_Use it well._

_Sincerely, _

_Mafalda Hopkirk, Improper Use of Magic Office_

Something was added in a neat and even writing.

_PS: Happy Birthday, Harry Potter. Take care._

Harry remembered Mafalda Hopkirk—or her name. She had sent him a warning letter once when serious magic had been detected in the Dursleys' house. It hadn't been Harry's fault. Dobby the house-elf had destroyed Aunt Petunia's pudding in the kitchen because he'd wanted to keep Harry from going back to Hogwarts. Dobby had been Mr Malfoy's house-elf and had gotten wind of something really awful. But no matter how much Harry had enquired, Dobby had refused to tell, not because he hadn't wanted to, it was just that every time he'd spoken ill of Lucius Malfoy, he had had to hit himself in one way or the other. Of course, Harry had arrived at Hogwarts nonetheless; not in the usual way, but he had arrived.

The last letter bore the Hogwarts crest. Harry's booklist for the following year would be inside.

Harry skimmed through the header and the first paragraph. _Dear Mr Potter… 1st September… Deputy Headmistress M. McGonagall…_

Then came the list.

_Hideously Advanced Charms and Spells _by Damien Houdini__

_The Appendix to Hideously Advanced Charms and Spells: A Practical Guide to the Most Splendid Transfigurations _by Damien Houdini

_The Dark Arts _by A. D. Shade

_A Hundred and Twelve Duelling Hexes, Paperback Edition _by Drew Quick

_Advanced Potions for Every Occasion_ by Newt Slicer

_A History of Magic—From Agrippa to Zoroaster, Revised and Enhanced Edition_ by Bathilda Bagshot

_Forewarned is Forearmed: How to Prepare Yourself for the Unexpectable_ by Crystal A. Tattore

Optional (but recommended): 

_Preparations for the N.E.W.Ts: A Guide to Give You a Heads-up When You Think It's Too Much to Cram Into Your Head_ by Optima Eversmile

"Well, Hedwig, that's that…" Harry stopped dead. "I'm allowed to do magic?" He grinned. "As my first deed as an officially declared adult wizard, I'll be setting you free from your cage… Now, where's my wand?"

Harry had of course tried to open Hedwig's cage numerous times. But this time Uncle Vernon had put a lock on it that rivalled the security measures of the Tower of London. There had been no way to overcome it. Until now.

Harry rummaged around on his desk, in the wardrobe and under the bed until he found his trusty holly wand in a dark corner. It must have fallen off the bedside table. 

As soon as he had wriggled out from under the bed again and brushed the inches thick dust from his clothes, he cleared his throat, and head held high went to Hedwig's cage.

"Old girl, Milady Hedwig, this wizard needs no key to open a lock as secure as the one on your cage. He only needs his wand," Harry said, "and a word. _Alohomora_!"

And with several snaps the lock opened and with it the cage's door, releasing Hedwig who flew out through the window with a grateful hoot, after she'd flexed and tested her wings by soaring around the room in a circle.

Harry smiled as he looked after her, her white feathers glinting in the silvery moonlight as she swept down on her prey. She hadn't been able to fly or hunt for weeks. Harry didn't expect her to be back before morning light. Thus, he went to bed, unknowing that the following day would bring the comeuppance for his brave deed of freeing a lady from her prison.

**Next chapter:**

The comeuppance, a lot of redheads, snogging teenagers and a bit of random silliness to establish a good mood for the time being—oh and a cameo by Draco Malfoy.


	3. A Friendly Face

**Author's note:** Thank you, **In Silent Lucidity**. Here's the next chapter—and you didn't even have to point your wand at me ;-) **Blaise A. Snape**, you're the nicest person in the world! **Strangelilgirl**, thank you, too. I see that I'm on your favourites list. Hmm, well, a very comfy place I must say ;-) And thanks to **Sanders** who never reviewed but anyway put me on his/her favourite authors list.

Chapter 2: A Friendly Face

**_I can't see me in this endless town  
Not a friendly face around  
Can you hear me when I speak out loud  
Hear my voice above the crowd_**

_—A-ha: Minor Earth, Major Sky_

Hedwig wasn't back yet when Harry was awoken by Aunt Petunia's yell. He rubbed his eyes, still sleepy, and reached for his glasses.

"Are you deaf? How often do we have to—?" Uncle Vernon threw open the door to Harry's room and stopped dead when he saw that the cage was empty.

Harry jumped.

"Oh dear." He cursed under his breath. Uncle Vernon hadn't entered this room for ages. Why did he have to do that now, for heaven's sake? This was not good. Uncle Vernon had already noticed the catastrophe. Whether he suspected Harry of having picked the lock or using magic to accomplish the same task wasn't crucial. It was the mere fact that Harry had disobeyed. If only Harry could cover it up. If only Hedwig had returned a minute or so ago. He would have locked her inside the cage again…

Uncle Vernon's face turned purple as his gaze flickered from the empty cage to Harry and from Harry to the unobtrusive-looking wand. Harry prepared himself for a yell that would—as always—make number four Privet Drive shake in its foundations. "WHAT HAVE I TOLD YOU? THAT OWL IS—!"

And if the mere fact that where a Snowy owl was supposed to sit was only empty space hadn't been enough, Hedwig chose exactly that moment to come back, flying through the open window and landing on the edge of the desk—a dead mouse in her beak and looking rather smug because of it. 

Why did Hedwig have to come back now? Why was Uncle Vernon in here when the corpus delicti of Harry's using magic was coming back from a night's stroll?

Vernon Dursley grabbed hold of Harry's hair, pulling him roughly to his feet. "What is this owl doing outside its cage? That animal isn't allowed outside its cage! Not a feather of it is allowed outside its cage!" His face was almost purple with rage and grew even more purple when he saw Harry's wand lying on the bedside table. "How dare you use this abnormality of yours to your advantage…" 

But Harry wasn't listening anymore. Ignoring the painful grasp his uncle had on his hair, he stretched as far as he could and suddenly had his wand in his hand.

"Let go of me!" Harry shouted, frantically waving the wand under Vernon Dursley's nose. "Let go of me or I'll… I'll curse you!" Harry couldn't even _think_ about a curse at the moment, let alone cast it properly, but the threat worked. Uncle Vernon let go of him as if Harry were a hot potato.

"You can't do that," he said, something that resembled a nasty grin on his overweight face. "You're not allowed—."

"I can," answered Harry, shaking, "and I will if I have to."

"You're going to…" Uncle Vernon spluttered, retreating, his moustache quivering in his rage.

"I'm going to," Harry interrupted him. "I'm going to write to the Weasleys _now_, send the letter per _Owl Post_, like we, _wizards_ that we are, are used to!" Harry yelled. "I'll ask them to come and get me earlier! I'm leaving as soon as possible." Harry couldn't bear it any longer. "And I'm not coming back!" he shouted and slammed the door right into Uncle Vernon's face and collapsed on his bed, taking deep calming breaths, the wand falling to the floor. 

Hedwig gave a concerned hoot and ruffled her feathers, before she flew towards him and settled on his arm, apologetically rubbing her head against Harry's cheek.

"Not your fault, dearie. Not your fault. It was only a matter of time anyway. I can't bear it any longer, old girl. I can't bear _them_. But I don't want to have to fight them…"

He grabbed a piece of parchment and a quill.

_Dear Mr and Mrs Weasley,_

_Can you come and get me earlier than we actually agreed on? This is really an emergency. I can't bear it any longer. I can't bear the way they stare at me, only waiting for me to cause something unusual so they have a reason to shout at me or take away my spellbooks or whatever else they can think of. As I'm officially allowed to do magic I'll be able to prevent them from bothering me all too much. But it's terrible to have to do that. It's wearing on me more than I can express in words._

_Don't tell Ginny or Ron what I wrote. I don't want them to worry. After all, I don't intend to come back here after school's out. I never want to see my sorry excuse for a family again._

_Please come and get me as soon as you can._

_I'll be waiting._

_Harry_

He tied it to Hedwig's leg and told her to hurry. She gave an encouraging hoot, soothingly nibbled on his earlobe and soared out through the open window.

**~*~*~**

Harry, avoiding the now extremely quiet Dursleys—only Patricia's voice was audible from time to time—by skipping meals (fortunately he had gotten enough of Mrs Weasley's delicious food for his birthday present), whiled away the following day with doing some homework, discreetly collecting his things from the cupboard under the stairs, arranging them in a way that would make it easier to pack as soon as he received word of the Weasleys.

He caught himself glancing in direction of the window much more often than he had realized at first. If only the letter were already here…

It wasn't until dusk that Hedwig's fluttering wings could be heard and she landed on the desk where Harry sat, still poring over the Potions essay that had unfortunately only grown two inches or so since noon.

"Sorry, Hedwig, I don't have any treats for you—but if you'd be satisfied with a pumpkin pasty…" Harry shoved the one he'd been nibbling on towards her.

She looked a bit disappointed, but not angry, and hooted softly, as Harry accepted the letter she held out for him to take.

He all but tore the envelope open.

_Dear Harry,_

_Of course, we'll come earlier if you want us to. We've already secured a Ministry car (unfortunately it won't fly, but nonetheless) and are establishing some means of security right as you read this parchment._

_We can be there by tomorrow afternoon, perhaps earlier, if all goes well._

_Arthur Weasley_

Yes, tomorrow. Tomorrow at this very moment, he could already be at The Burrow.

Harry fell asleep with that thought on his mind—after he had cast another Locking Charm on the door. Maybe he was just growing paranoid, but better be safe than sorry.

**~*~*~**

The bell rang and Harry stopped dead in his tracks and almost dropped Hedwig's cage, which he had been wrapping up for transporting purposes, when he heard Uncle Vernon's heavy footsteps heading for the door.

Harry set the cage onto the desk and rushed down the stairs.

Vernon Dursley was blocking the doorway quite thoroughly ("You cannot enter here!"), but as he wasn't very tall, Harry could see Mr Weasley's head, covered in the feeble remains of what had once been a splendid mop of fiery red hair. 

"Harry, how good to see you," he said in greeting.

"Hi, Mr Weasley—."

"Harry!" Ginny quite unceremoniously shoved Uncle Vernon out of her way and threw herself at Harry, giving him the mother of all kisses. His glasses fogged up quite nicely.

"No one's invited—!"

"Oh, shut up," Ron muttered at Uncle Vernon's interruption.

"Have we met?" Harry teased as soon as the circumstances allowed it, and Ginny giggled softly and said, "I missed you."

"Not as much as I missed you," Harry teased, suddenly feeling light and cheerful again as he looked into Ginny's gentle brown eyes.

"I'm not late, am I?" said a familiar voice.

"Sirius!" Harry exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"

"If you'd rather not have me here, I could leave again…" Sirius said with a grin. "If I had a girl like that in my arms, I'd not waste a glance at my shabby old godfather even if he brought his trusty motorcycle with him."

"You're neither old nor shabby. It's good to see you. Especially since your letter was so short—at least to your recent standards. You've been busy, huh?"

"Quite. And right now I'm busy being my godson's bodyguard," Sirius said, crossing the threshold—without Uncle Vernon blocking the doorway. He had backed away, looking terrified. Of course, Sirius Black, the escaped criminal. Or was it rather that the Dursleys knew him as a criminal _wizard_, who—as if that in itself weren't enough already—additionally happened to be Harry's godfather? And although Sirius had nothing in common anymore with the filthy skin-and-bone creature that had escaped from Azkaban, Uncle Vernon had put one and one together and got two.

Sirius crushed Harry in a bear hug and thoroughly ruffled his hair. Not that the state of it would have worsened. Nothing could make Harry's hair look untidier than it did already by nature. 

"You've grown quite a bit since I last saw you," Sirius said.

It was a bit embarrassing. A seventeen-year-old boy in clothes at least three sizes too big but three inches too short for him getting his hair messed up by a godfather clad in a black wizard's robe or rather what must be the motorcycling version of it.

"Oh, stop it, Sirius. I'll never get my hair to lie flat that way."

"Don't even think about it. James couldn't manage that. You won't either," he grinned, giving his hair another ruffle but thankfully letting go of Harry. 

"Thanks for the broomstick. I didn't even know there was a new Firebolt coming out."

"Someone has to stay informed about such things. Wouldn't want you to lose a game only because the opponent's broom was faster than yours—particularly when that opponent's name is Malfoy." Sirius winked. "Speaking of Malfoy… I think I was a bit rude. Excuse me for a moment," he said and all but rounded on Uncle Vernon who looked as though he would have liked to disappear right into the wall, and Aunt Petunia and Dudley who had come out of the kitchen to back Uncle Vernon up. 

"Sirius Black," he introduced himself and extended his hand, showing his teeth in what one could call either an inviting grin or a maniacal sneer.

No one moved to take his hand and shake it. Three Muggle faces were looking at him as if he'd attack and kill them any second. Uncle Vernon's mouth was opening and closing at random, but no sound came out.

Sirius dropped his hand. "Enchanted," he bowed slightly, and turning to Harry he said, "How ever did you learn to speak at all with the three of them being so silent all the time?"

Harry shrugged. "Usually they aren't that quiet. It's almost bearable today. Good you came before noon. In the afternoon, it would have been another Patricia-experience. That voice penetrates walls."

"Another what?" Ginny asked.

"Patricia-experience. Dudley's girlfriend."

"You managed to get a girlfriend?" Ron asked, stunned.

Dudley nodded hesitantly. Harry remembered something. He'd wanted to show off with Ginny a bit.

"Dudley, dearest cousin," Harry began, "meet Virginia Weasley. _My_ girlfriend. Ginny, meet Dudley Dursley."

First, Ginny nodded politely. "Pleasure. Harry has been talking of you _quite a lot_…" she trailed off, meaningfully raising an eyebrow at him.

Dudley blushed crimson. He must know that Harry had not much good to report about him.

"Where's your trunk, Harry? Upstairs?" Mr Weasley asked.

"Yeah, I didn't expect you to come so early," Harry said apologetically. "But I'm almost finished packing anyway…"

"I'll help you go get it," Ron said, and they made their way up the staircase, leaving three extremely unhappy Muggles, two full-grown wizards, and a Ginny behind who peered curiously into the kitchen and the living room. "Can I touch your new broom?" Ron continued. "A Firebolt II. Wow… I never thought I'd ever get to see one close up. The Firebolt II. Best broomstick ever. And according to the latest edition of _Which Broomstick,_ it doesn't even have that slight list to the tail-end and won't develop that drag after a few years that the Nimbus series always had. Not that you'd ever had problems."

"No, it got smashed to pieces before it could even consider developing anything at all," Harry said dryly.

Harry's first ever broomstick had been smashed by the Whomping Willow, a particularly vicious tree that guarded the entrance to the Shrieking Shack, a haunted house in Hogsmeade, where Remus Lupin, a friend of James Potter, had always been taken to be able to transform into a werewolf without hurting anyone but himself.

"That gives me an idea. You could use my old Firebolt when we play Quidditch."

"Really?" Ron beamed. He had always all but worshipped Harry's Firebolt and had been so proud that Harry had let him fly it from time to time when they had been practising. Not many people had that privilege. Harry guarded his brooms almost like Fluffy had guarded the Philosopher's Stone.

"Sure."

"Ginny will be happy that I don't have to steal her Shooting Star any longer. But face it, the twigs are more even on hers than they're on mine. And as she hardly needs a broom at all when we're at school… Hi, Hedwig."

The Snowy owl swept towards Harry and landed on his out-stretched arm.

"Good you're back, old girl," Harry said, stroking her fluffy breast feathers. "The Weasleys are a bit early. And Sirius has come too." Hedwig hooted expectantly. "If you wanted to ask if he brought something for you, I must say that I don't know, but somehow I don't think so." Hedwig ruffled her feather indignantly. 

"But I'm convinced," Ron said, looking around the room for anything Harry might have overlooked, "that Errol will gladly share a treat or two with you as soon as we're at The Burrow."

That seemed to lighten her mood considerably, since she affectionately nibbled first on Harry's earlobe, then on Ron's, and then flew downstairs. A screech and a yelp could be heard, and then Ginny's exasperated voice. "Come on, it's only Hedwig. Some Muggles. Honestly…"

Harry could almost see her roll her eyes in the way she always did when something annoyed her.

"Look. You've forgotten something," Ron said. "That's the WWW collection I gave you for your birthday."

"I've learnt to be careful with anything Fred or George had their hands in," Harry grinned. "But I leave your present, which I really appreciate, for a reason that Fred and George—and you—will find very noble. Evil but noble."

"Dudley, huh?"

"Exactly. Or is something really dangerous in there? I don't want him to get anything that could kill him."

"If you've taken out the Ton-Tongue Toffees?"

"I have. He already knows those anyway."

"Then there's nothing to fear. I've had one of everything that's inside and everything wore off after an hour or two again."

"Well, if that's so. It's almost a pity that none of us will be able to watch him turn into a canary. He's not that fat anymore, but I'm fairly sure that he can't resist something that looks as delicious as Fred and George's nastiest tricks. He might even offer Patty-pumpkin one of those…"

"I think I'd like to meet her—."

"You—."

"—as soon as she's had a Canary Cream, of course."

Harry laughed. "Of course."

"Hurry up a bit, will you?" Ginny shouted. "The faster the safer."

"Coming, Gin."

"Yeah, we were already on our way," Ron shouted in reply, winked and put the WWW collection back onto Harry's desk. "We're being so evil, Harry."

Harry shrugged. "If Dudley doesn't know better than to eat something that's packed in a box with moving pictures on its front…"

Minutes later, all of them were packed and stacked into a car that looked extremely Muggle on the outside, but not on the inside. It had been magically expanded to fit them all in. All except Hedwig and Sirius.

Hedwig flew before them. Harry could see her as a small white spot in the blue summer sky.

As to Sirius, he was riding his motorcycle, following them at a short distance. He looked so cool, like an actual bodyguard.

Harry almost felt like the Premier Minister or even Queen Mum. He felt important. Such a fuss they made about him. Was it really that dangerous? At Hogwarts, you just didn't feel the gravity of the war against the Dark side. At the Dursleys', you didn't get enough news about the current state in the wizarding world. The second-hand information Harry got from his friends and Sirius simply hadn't revealed the whole picture. Somehow he'd thought, they exaggerated a bit. On the other hand—Harry was positive about that—there were definitely a few things they deliberately kept from him…

Harry breathed a sigh of relief as they left Privet Drive and Magnolia Crescent behind, and with it the Muggle world. He wouldn't return there if he could help it at all.

He hadn't even said good-bye.

**~*~*~**

They arrived at The Burrow in the early evening hours. As it was summer, it wasn't completely dark yet.

"Well, I'm off," Sirius said. "Sorry. I'd really have liked to stay a bit. But—."

"Yeah, I know," Harry said. "It was good to see you, Sirius. Take care."

"I will. I'll write."

"Me too."

"Will you come to Hogwarts again? For the Quidditch games in November?"

"If I can, I will," he said. "But I can't promise."

"I understand. It's alright."

"Bye, Harry. Take care. All of you."

"You too."

They embraced for a moment (Harry had his hair ruffled again), and Sirius was off. Harry looked after him until he had almost disappeared. The black spot that was Sirius on his motorcycle rose from the ground and vanished into the dusky sky.

Harry shook his head. Sirius and his motorcycle. One seemingly wasn't complete without the other.

"Harry! Come on inside," Mr Weasley called.

"Yes!" he answered, threw another glance in the direction where Sirius had disappeared and ran into the house where he was greeted by Fred and George who carried a small bag of something around, offering it to anyone who crossed their path. "One of these, anyone?"

"So…" Harry said. "You wanted to confess something, Ron?"

"What? Oh, yes. Just a second." He turned away, fumbled around in his pocket, pulled something silvery out and then turned back to Harry, a glinting Head Boy badge fastened to his maroon sweater.

"You guessed already, didn't you?" Ron said.

Harry nodded. "Congratulations. My best friend has become Head Boy. Does that mean I can sneak out of the dormitory without having points taken away?"

"To a certain extent. If said Head Boy's sneaking out with you…"

"Mate, there are some things a man has to do on his own."

"You mean, snog my sister?"

"Well, hypothetically…"

"Don't you dare snog someone else as long as you're the official boyfriend of my little sister."

"I would never. Your little sister's huge temper prevents that. But honestly, congratulations, Ron. Your parents must have been so proud."

"Oh, they are. But, you see, actually I don't really care who's Head Boy as long as it's not Malfoy. He'd never let me see the end of it… But _me_ getting the job is an added bonus."

"Ronald, would you assist me in the kitchen?" Mrs Weasley called.

Ron groaned softly. "Five brothers and a sister and she still calls upon me to—."

"Ron!"

"Yes, Mum! In a moment—!"

"Now!"

He rolled his eyes at Harry and shrugged. "Yes, Mum!"

"I'll go get your present, Harry!" Ginny said and ran up the staircase, leaving Harry alone with the twins.

"How's it going with Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes?" Harry felt obliged to ask at Fred and George's expectant looks.

"Oh, well…" Fred/George began.

"You know…" George/Fred continued solemnly.

Then they exchanged a glance, broke into huge grins and chorused, "Splendid!" before bowing their heads at Mrs Weasley's exasperated glance, which she threw at them, as she swept past.

"That's good," Harry said. "Anything I shouldn't eat or even touch in here that I don't know already? Biting pies? Pounding Pasties?"

"Write that down, Fred."

"Naturally. Actually, we do have something new. They're Ginny's invention. Want one?" Fred pulled out a bag with sweets in every colour in it. They looked a bit like Bertie Botts' Every Flavour Beans.

"What do they do?" Harry narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

"Don't ask. Try one already," George said, still a fairly expectant look on his face as did his twin. 

"I don't trust you farther than I can throw either one of you," Harry answered, laughing. "And I don't trust anything Ginny invented if said invention manages to draw that look on your faces."

One of the twins wiped an imaginary tear away. "Can you believe it, Fred? The great Harry Potter doesn't want to try a Ginny Gem."

"We must have ruined our reputation at some point or other," Fred answered, shaking his head in mock-depression.

Harry patted him on the shoulder. "Now, that's no reason to break down entirely," he joined the twins' charade. "It's not that it hadn't been ruined for years already. But I'd really like to have a Ginny Gem now."

A manic glint appeared in both the twins' eyes as broad grins plastered themselves on their faces.

Fred held the bag of sweets and offered them to Harry who took a pleasantly violet and blue striped one that was wrapped in transparent paper, eyeing it curiously for a moment before he put it in his pocket.

"I think I'll keep it for later. I'll ask Ginny first if it turns me into a pink rabbit or something."

"If I were you, Harry, I wouldn't eat anything they offered," Mrs Weasley came in. "Dinner's ready. You look like you could use it." She eyed Harry up and down.

"Um…" Harry began, not knowing what to answer.

Ginny's footsteps could be heard, trampling down the staircase. "Dinner's waiting, Ginny," Mrs Weasley said, smiling up kindly at her daughter who was by now almost a head taller than Mrs Weasley. Then she bustled back into the kitchen, where Harry could hear her reprimanding Fred and George within a matter of seconds.

"There," Ginny said breathlessly and held out a small bag. "These are for you. I've invented them myself and sold the idea to Fred and George. They produce them and I get my share of the winnings. That means I'm a member of WWW now—but don't tell Mum."

"Thanks, Gin. What are these?" Harry eyed the bag.

"They're called Ginny Gems—."

"Fred and George already introduced me to them—."

"I'm going to kill them."

"No. No. I've taken one of them, but I don't know what it does. They refused to tell me," Harry explained.

"Okay, so I'm not going to kill them after all."

"What do those Ginny Gems do?"

"You'll have to eat one if you want to know that."

"Virginia…"

"Ooh, should I be scared that you're calling me by my full name?" she teased.

"Indeed, yes."

"Why?"

"Because I intend to tickle the answer out of you—."

"Ginny! Harry! Your food's getting cold!" Mrs Weasley's voice could be heard coming from the kitchen.

"Stop snogging our sister!" Fred and George chorused.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "I've changed my mind. I'm going to inherit Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes from them sooner than I thought…"

"Later."

"What later?"

"Tickle the answer as to what Ginny Gems do to you out of you."

"Tell you what. I'll have one, too. Later. They're really delicious despite their… ahem… side-effect."

"Side-effect," Harry echoed. "Nice choice of words."

"Let's go inside before Fred and George get any ideas. They might put beetles in your soup. They've already done that to Percy several times, and the poor fellow never notices."

**~*~*~**

After dinner, they heaved Harry's trunk into Ron's room (it was still orange all over), and Harry unpacked a few things, such as his not yet finished homework. After that, he excused himself from Ron.

"Where're you going, Harry?" Ron asked.

"I promised Gin to try a Ginny Gem," Harry answered.

"You shouldn't have done that."

"Why? What do they do?"

"I'm not telling you. Ginny would never forgive me."

"You just want to see me sprout feathers or something," Harry muttered.

"That would be Canary Creams. And you won't trick me into giving it away. I had to suffer, too, although for us Weasleys it's not that bad."

"Well, I'd better go before she comes in here and drags me out by my hair."

"Good luck." Ron grinned.

"I really appreciate that," Harry muttered sarcastically before he closed the door after him and sneaked into Ginny's room.

"Well, well, well, whom have we here?" Ginny asked in greeting. "I almost thought you wanted to back out."

"I'm a Gryffindor. Gryffindors don't back out of anything, no matter how dangerous and life-threatening it might be."

"Ginny Gems are neither. They're just funny."

"Gryffindors are also famous for their sense of humour." Harry pulled out the one he had taken from Fred and George. "You too," he demanded.

"Okay." Ginny drew another one of the small bags out of a drawer and pulled out a pink Ginny Gem with yellow spots.

Harry popped his into his mouth; Ginny mimicked his action.

Nothing happened.

"What now?" Harry asked.

"Look into the mirror." Ginny opened the wardrobe. There was a mirror on the inside of the door.

Harry stared in disbelief and then began to laugh. His usually raven-black hair had turned a clashing crimson!

He turned back to Ginny who was sniggering really badly.

Ginny's appearance hadn't changed that much. Her hair might have been a little redder than usual, but as the difference wasn't that great, it was hardly noticeable. 

"That's not fair," Harry said, in-between his laughs. "For you, they're completely safe, whereas they turn me into a… a…"

"A redhead?" Ginny suggested.

"A Weasley."

"That's one and the same," she grinned.

"I think I like those. Ginny Gems, hmm." He popped another one into his mouth. "Different flavours, too…"

"And no spinach or earwax flavoured ones. All of them are edible."

"That's a comfort."

"I wouldn't want anything to bear my name if it tasted like dirt or vomit, would I?"

"Of course not." Harry looked back into the mirror. "Say, how long will this—," he pointed at his hair. "How long will this take to go away?"

"Let's see… How many did you eat? Two, wasn't it?"

"Yes?" Harry grew suspicious.

"Hmm," Ginny made an indecisive sound. "Should wear off some time tomorrow afternoon."

"Tomorrow afternoon?" Harry exclaimed. "Tomorrow afternoon?"

"Well, a blue and lavender striped one lasts about four or five hours… And the green one lasts up to two and a half hours. Fred tested them on Pig to determine that. But what happens if you eat more than one…" she grinned. "Why don't you eat the whole bag? You might not see your natural hair colour until they turn grey."

Harry couldn't think of a retort. He was speechless.

"Red hair goes well with your eyes," Ginny chanced. 

"You don't intend to invent something to change one's eye-colour, do you?"

"Good idea. Want to sell it to Fred and George?"

"You Weasleys are a quite greedy lot, aren't you?"

"Just me and Ron and Fred and George…"

"I get the point." Harry laughed.

"But you are really cute, even without eating a Ginny Gem first."

"For you I'd eat a bag of them."

"Really?"

"Wipe that nasty grin off your face. You look like Fred and George. But honestly, if I had to, I would do anything for you."

"I love you, Harry, red hair or not."

"And I love you, whether you secure me a lifelong supply of Ginny Gems or not." Harry suddenly had to fight the urge to yawn. "Oh dear, what time is it?"

"Oh! Almost two in the morning. I didn't realize."

"I noticed," he answered. "Neither did I."

"Well, I guess it's good night."

"Guess so."

After several long kisses, they parted and Harry went into Ron's room, falling asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. He managed to slur a "G'Night, Ron," before he was off to the land of dreams.

He didn't even hear Ron snicker before he put out the light.

**~*~*~**

The following days passed in a blur. Harry couldn't remember a time when he had felt that good. They spent their days playing Quidditch four against four, as Bill and Charlie spent their holiday at home, and even Percy had decided to mount a broomstick. "Three against four would be most unfair, wouldn't it?"

In the evenings, they'd be playing Gobstones or Exploding Snap.

Even the fact that they had to finish their homework didn't spoil their mood. In fact, it was rather enjoyable. Ginny, who hadn't selected Divination, was quite curious as to what their essay was about this time and provided them with a few quite ghastly ways of being killed by various very rare but extremely dangerous creatures. In a word, some very unlikely death scenarios. "If Trelawney's as bad as you're saying, she'll love them."

So it was that the day Hermione was supposed to arrive they'd finished their homework. Never before had Harry been done with them that early in the holidays. Ron had said, "We must be done before she comes over or she'll never let me hear the end of it." Harry had only grinned.

As they sat at breakfast, Ron kept glancing at his watch, nervous.

"Calm down," said Ginny, "it's not as if you hadn't met her before. And she won't come earlier only because you try to hypnotise your watch into making time pass more swiftly either."

Ron was completely unaffected by Ginny's comment. He went on doing what he did for quite some time until—.

A noise coming from the living room could be heard, followed by a cough.

"That must be Hermione!" Ron exclaimed and jumped to his feet. The assembled Weasleys sniggered. Mrs Weasley smiled benignly. And even Percy couldn't suppress a halfway amused grin.

"Hello?" Hermione's voice echoed through the corridor. "Ron? Mrs Weasley? Anyone home?"

"'Mione! It's so good to see you!" Ron shouted, as several dull thuds and an angry meowing noise indicated that Hermione had set down her luggage. Ron had grown considerably fonder of Crookshanks ever since his involvement in the Peter Pettigrew affair.

"I've missed you…"

The rest of the conversation was too silent for Harry to be overheard except for a small snigger of Hermione's.

"They're snogging," Ginny said so dryly that Harry couldn't help breaking into a fit of the giggles. "Let's give them a minute or two—or until lunch."

The day went by as quickly as every day Harry had ever spent at The Burrow.

After dinner, Ginny dragged him into her room and drew him into another kiss.

"To what do I owe that one?" Harry said.

"To your skills as a kisser?" Ginny chanced.

"I always thought I was a Seeker?"

"Well, you already caught me, so that part of it has already been covered."

"Indeed." Harry kissed her again, slowly, intending to kiss her quite senseless. When he pulled back, he whispered breathlessly, "It's late. I should go—."

"Go where?" Ginny whispered back.

"Ron's—."

"I don't think this is such a good idea."

"Why not?"

"You see, Hermione and I decided not to share my room—."

"I get it," Harry said, drawing her near. "Would you mind doing with me what I suspect Hermione's doing with Ron?"

"As much as you know they could be mending socks in there," Ginny sniggered.

"Socks, huh? Why are you so obsessed with socks? Dumbledore's too. Is that a pure-blood wizarding character trait or something like that?"

"I don't know. Perhaps you should ask Malfoy?"

"Must you spoil the mood like that?"

"Sorry," Ginny wrinkled her nose, snaking her arms around Harry's waist and under his shirt. "That better?"

"Considerably," said Harry before any further conversation was put out of the question.

**~*~*~**

The last weekend of the holidays was reserved for the obligatory trip to Diagon Alley. They travelled there by Floo powder, their first stop thus being The Leaky Cauldron.

As they entered Diagon Alley through the secret entrance situated just outside the pub's backdoor, the figures clad in black robes bearing the emblem of the Ministry of Magic were immediately obvious.

"We've got an Auror shortage because of the war," Mr Weasley explained, as he perceived Harry's curious stare. "Everyone who can hold a wand and has a _perfectly_ clean record is asked to join Ministry services, so we'll be able to guard public areas such as Diagon Alley properly, especially now that Hogwarts students come here to buy their supplies. It will be easier as soon as you're all safely back at Hogwarts. The train will be highly guarded, too… Harker! How's it going?" he greeted one of the Aurors who nodded in reply.

"Alright, we'll meet again at Florean Fortescue's in three hours, so you should have enough time to get your things. I'll be around."

They all nodded and headed into Gringotts to get their money before they decided to get their books first. 

So they went to Flourish and Blotts, the entrance to which was guarded by two Aurors on either side of the door who acknowledged them with a nod as the four teenagers went past them. Inside they could see another pair of Aurors who walked through the throng of customers, checking anything suspicious, sometimes asking a wizard or witch to open his or her bag so they could have a look if they carried something dangerous with them.

"Well, well, well," an all-too-familiar voice drawled, "if it isn't Potty, the Mudblood and the Weasels. What are you doing in a shop? You can't afford anything here anyway."

"You've just given me an idea, Malfoy," Ginny said. "We could earn a lot of money if we were to become a band and called ourselves like you just did. Sounds like a lovely band name to me. And even the Death Eaters could remember it, their brains being as small as they are."

"Watch what you—."

"Is there a problem?" an Auror who had come by asked sharply.

They shook their heads. Even Malfoy said, "No, sir."

"Then go about your business."

Malfoy slipped away into the crowd.

"Wow. They're really paranoid," Ron said, impressed.

"Understandable, isn't it? If only half of what the _Daily Prophet_ reported is true…"

"I don't even know half of what the _Daily Prophet_ reported, Hermione," Harry said. "And if only half of what I fear is true, they're doing well to be cautious."

"Let's get our things," Ginny said, "before we come across someone else who's looking for trouble."

"Okay."

"Everybody got their list? Ron?"

"Of course, Hermione, what do you take me for?" He waved it in front of her. "Besides, Harry needs the same books as I do. And so do you… Well, and a dozen of books in addition to the compulsory ones."

Hermione shot him a death glare.

"Don't look at me that way. I'll be carrying them for you. I'm just complaining in advance. I won't be able to speak as soon as I've got to carry two bags in either one of my hands and a fifth one in my mouth."

Hermione had to laugh at that. "I'd like to see that. Let's go get our books, Ron."

"Miss Weasley, I wouldn't want to be a worse boyfriend than your brother. May I ask the privilege to be burdened with your books?"

"Certainly, Mr Potter. Certainly."

They returned to The Burrow with their bags very full and heavy with books and school supplies and their money bags considerably lighter than they had been before.

**Next chapter:**

We journey to Hogwarts, lose Trevor, get bad news, get all gloomy—and my lovely OC gets the introduction she deserves…Oh, and from now on we'll get much more of Snape than we'd bargained for ;-)

**Author's note:** I think the Ginny Gems were in some lovely story I read at Gryffindor Tower… But I can't remember which one…


	4. Lady in Black

Chapter 3: Lady in Black

**_First ones to walk this path of night  
Lady in black, lady in white  
…  
May the quest begin!_**

_—Nightwish: Nightquest___

"Ron, are you sure you have everything?" shouted Mrs Weasley in the random direction of where her youngest son was, that is, in his room up the staircase—five landings higher than she was.

"Sure, Mum."

"Athena?"

"On her way!"

"Your books?"

"Yes, Mum."

"Your new robes?"

"Yes, Mum!"

"Your homework?"

"Yes!"

"Enough ink and parchment?"

"Mum, we're having Hogsmeade weekends on a regular basis," Ginny intervened, as she swept past her, carrying Pig's cage and her trunk, thus saving her brother the trouble of having to shout another set of 'Yes, Mum's.

"Are you finished packing, Ginny?"

"Yes, Mum—and I've got my books, robes, broomstick and a lot of things I won't even need." She went through the doorway to join her father.

"Harry?"

"Everything's packed, Mrs Weasley. Really." Harry levitated his trunk down the narrow staircase. Hedwig's empty cage was sitting on top of it. The Snowy owl had already been sent on her way to Hogwarts. So had Pig and Athena. Crookshanks was the only pet to enjoy the privilege of travelling with them—although he hadn't seemed very happy when Hermione had stuffed him into his basket.

Mrs Weasley sighed. "You've all grown up so fast."

Mr Weasley was waiting outside; two huge black cars had been provided by the Ministry to take them all to King's Cross station. He helped Harry with strategically placing his luggage and Hedwig's cage in the car's boot. 

Ron's stuff came last, Mrs Weasley running after her youngest son, still asking him if he had everything.

Harry couldn't help chuckling as he crept into the back of the first car. Hermione was already there, Crookshanks on her lap inside the basket and spitting. She greeted Harry with a, "What took you so long? Honestly…"

Ron and Ginny scrambled in after Harry.

"Well, we're packed and ready to go, aren't we?" Ron said brightly. "I almost thought the only words I'd be speaking today would be 'Yes, Mum!'"

"Me too," said Ginny.

Mr Weasley sat down in the front seat next to the driver. "We're ready," he said.

"Yes, sir." And with that, they left The Burrow, the other car following them. The rest of the Weasley family were sitting inside, trunkless, cageless, Hogwarts-robeless and keen on seeing them safely to the train.

As soon as they'd arrived at King's Cross station, Fred, George, Bill, and Charlie hurried off to get them trolleys on which they could set their luggage. Then it was through the barrier to platform nine and three quarters where the Hogwarts Express was waiting for them, the scarlet engine breathing steam already.

"Let's put our luggage away first," Hermione suggested and they saw their luggage was put into the luggage van. After that, they all returned to the assembled Weasleys. Fred and George kept wiping imaginary tears away.

"Take good care. All of you," Mrs Weasley said, blinking back tears.

A chorus of "Yes, Mum,"s and "Yes, Mrs Weasley,"s answered her.

"Come on, Mum, get a grip on yourself. It's not as though they were out of the world," Bill said, patting his mother's shoulder.

"And good luck for your exams," Mr Weasley said.

"Dad, the N.E.W.Ts are ages away!" Ron pointed out.

"They'll be upon you faster than you think."

"Write as soon as you've arrived, so we know that you're safe, alright?" Mrs Weasley said, pulling Ginny into a somewhat awkward hug, as Ginny was a head taller than her mother.

"Yes, Mum. I promise."

"And write whenever something's amiss, alright?" It was Ron's turn to be hugged and kissed good-bye by his sobbing mother.

"Yes, Mum—You're suffocating me!"

"Sorry, Ron."

Hermione, too, received a hug and Harry had his hair ruffled by Mrs Weasley. Why was it that everyone had to ruffle his hair? Ron did it to annoy Harry. Ginny did it because she liked it. Mrs Weasley did it for reasons that were beyond Harry. And Sirius did it… well… because he was Sirius.

"Don't cry, Mum. You'll have Bill and Charlie and Percy at home, not to mention Fred and George," Ginny said, and Mrs Weasley rummaged in her pockets for a handkerchief on which she blew her nose.

"Actually, I am already being expected," Percy said. "And so are Bill and Charlie."

"Yes, we just wanted to see you to the train and say good-bye."

"And then we're off, too," Charlie added. "But we'll try to stay in contact more than ever."

"Watch over our little sister, will you, Harry?" Bill said. "And you too, Ron."

Harry nodded. Weren't they overly anxious as to their safety? Hogwarts was the safest place to be—as soon as you were there.

The whistle sounded, indicating that the train was about to leave.

"We've got to go, Mum, Dad," Ron said.

"Bye, everyone." Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny jumped aboard the train, the doors closed right after them, and they went on the search for an empty compartment, which they found around in the middle of the train.

They slumped into their seats. Hermione opened Crookshanks's basket—the ginger cat curled up on her lap and purred as she stroked his head. Then she drew a large book out of her bag. Harry recognized it as _Hideously Advanced Charms and Spells_, his copy of which he had stored safely in his trunk.

"You can't be serious, 'Mione," Ron voiced Harry's thoughts. "We're not even back at Hogwarts. School hasn't even started!"

"No reason not to inform myself what awaits us this term, is it?" Hermione asked smoothly. Crookshanks purred again. "He agrees with me." She grinned and returned her attention to the book.

Around noon, there was a knock at the compartment door and the witch with the trolley asked, "Anybody hungry?"

"We're always hungry," said Ginny, quite clearly looking at Ron as she said this.

Ron wrinkled his freckly nose at his equally freckly sister. "You're one to talk. You'll look like the Fat Friar one day if you don't stop eating so much."

"You're one to talk. The house-elves down in the kitchen know you by your footfall already."

"We'll have a bit of everything, right, everyone?" Harry asked. "I'm buying. Regard it as a belated birthday party substitute."

"Very much belated, I must say," Ron said. "Wait, Ma'am!" he exclaimed when the witch made to hand a box of Bertie Botts' Beans to Ginny. "Better give the Every Flavour Beans to me—or we'll only get the disgusting ones as soon as my sister's sorted the edible ones out."

"That was not my intention, Ronald," Ginny said almost regally.

"Really?"

"Yes, I merely wanted to sneak a few Ginny Gems in." She grinned broadly and snatched the Beans out of the witch's grasp.

"There you are, dears," the witch smiled and gave the pumpkin pasties and beans and Chocolate Frogs and a bit of whatever else she had on the trolley to Hermione and Ginny who were sitting closest to the compartment door.

Harry paid exactly a Galleon, and the witch went on along the corridor. "Hungry anyone?" he heard her ask again before he closed the door.

Ron was already busy unwrapping the Chocolate Frogs.

"I can't believe it!" he exclaimed after the fifth or so frog, his voice muffled by the Chocolate Frog he was chewing on. "I almost thought they forgot to put him in."

"Whom?" Harry asked blankly.

"Agrippa!" Ron exclaimed. "I can't believe I've finally got them all—until new ones are added, of course. Oh, that I live to see the day to—there's another Dumbledore."

"How many Dumbledores do you have already, Ron? Fifty?" Harry asked.

"More," said Ginny.

"But not much more than that," said Ron. "Oh, Agrippa, if you knew how long I had to wait for this moment. Quiet, everyone, I'm reading the info—."

The door slid open and Neville entered the compartment. "Say, you haven't seen—?"

"A toad?" the whole compartment chorused.

"Trevor," Neville finished, grinning despite himself. "I seem to lose him constantly when on the train. I take it you haven't seen him?"

"No," Hermione said. "Just pray Malfoy hasn't caught him."

"Oh, dear… Thanks anyway. In my next life I'll get myself an owl or a cat…" he muttered.

"Maybe the problem is not that your toad is a toad, but that Trevor is Trevor," Ginny said.

"You mean he's doing it on purpose?"

"Looks like it, doesn't it?"

"A toad with a sense of humour," Harry chuckled.

"Well, I'm off. I'll try to find him before he gets himself caught by someone who doesn't mean him as well as you and I do. See you later."

"And not quite as toadless, huh?" Ron said, securing the card inside the pocket of his shirt.

"Sort of… Trevor!" Neville called, proceeding down the corridor. "Excuse me, you haven't stumbled across a toad? He's about that size and—."

Ginny, sniggering, pulled the compartment door shut. "Harry, would you hand me the other bags of Beans, please? I'd like to sort them out before anyone else can do that."

Harry did so, despite Ron's objections. "How do you see whether it is a toffee or an earwax-flavoured one?" he asked. "To me they look all the same. To me even the sardine-flavoured ones look like toffee."

"That will be my secret," Ginny winked. "There, have a strawberry one."

"I don't trust you."

"You're breaking my heart," Ginny pouted. "Alright. I'll eat it myself then."

Harry snatched it from her. "Alright," he said slowly, "the only question now is, did you count on me declining the offer so you could trick me into eating a whatever-disgusting-flavour one, or did you rather count on me doing what I did?"

"Only one way to find out," she said happily. "By the way, what do you take me for?"

"A Weasley," he replied wryly.

"Honestly, I swear to a bag of Ginny Gems that it's really a strawberry-flavoured bean. Besides, if I hadn't chosen it for you, what would you have taken it for?"

Harry eyed it suspiciously before he finally popped it into his mouth. He so enjoyed teasing Ginny when it came to wizarding sweets. "Mmm. It really _is_ strawberry. Can you determine a peppermint one, too?"

"Try me."

"Go on," Harry prompted.

"I've got an idea," Ron grinned suggestively. "How about if we ask Ginny to determine the flavour of one bean at a time—."

"You're already doing that, Ron." Hermione had looked up from her book for a moment.

"And what happens if she—hypothetically of course," Harry added quickly, "if Ginny gets it wrong?"

"I won't get it wrong. I'm an expert!" she playfully punched his upper arm.

"You've always been good. But not that good. Anyway, Ginny, if you fail," Ron said, "you'll have to reach into the bag with your eyes closed and eat whatever bean you get, no matter if it's lettuce, or spinach, or earwax, or vomit, or tar, or—."

"There are tar-flavoured ones?" Ginny asked blankly. "Just kidding. Of course, there are tar-flavoured ones, too. And before any one of you asks himself how I found out how to determine their flavours, let me state that I suffered them all numerous times before I got the hang of it. Courtesy of Fred and George."

"Poor Ginny," Harry teased. "Have a treat."

"That's exactly how they always caught me when I was little," she said wryly.

An hour and about three bags of Beans later, Ginny sighed and said. "Face it already. I won't fail. Not when it concerns the Beans," Ginny said proudly. "Let's play something else—. The one you're holding is dirt, by the way."

Ron dropped it as though it were a hot potato. 

Ginny pulled out a deck of Exploding Snap cards and began dealing out the cards. Hermione preferred to continue reading the book.

"How are we supposed to be sure that the ones you said were bad really are the bad ones?" Ron asked.

"You can't," Ginny said brightly. "Unless of course…" She raised her eyebrows suggestively.

"Erm…"

Ron looked almost relieved when he was spared the answer by the compartment door sliding open. But he froze almost instantly, as everybody's—well, at least of the assembled people—least favourite person all but slithered inside. (Crabbe and Goyle stayed outside, as their bulky bodies wouldn't have fit into the now fairly crowded compartment.)

"The Potter gang—," Malfoy began. That was apparently his way of saying 'hello'.

"What happened to Potty and the Weasels?" Harry asked casually, arranging his hand. With cards like the ones he had, who could stop him from winning?

"I don't like repeating myself."

"And that when he so obviously repeats himself so very often," Hermione muttered, not even bothering to look at him.

"For you, I make an exception, Mudblood." Malfoy had caught her meaning.

"I don't like repeating myself either, Malfoy, but for you I'd make an exception and bitch-slap you again." She casually turned the page of her book. "Your memory's not the best, is it?"

"The past. Who cares about the past? You can have it. The future is mine—or rather _ours_," Malfoy sneered. "We only needed the past to prepare the future if you know what I mean."

"What if we don't?" Ron asked challengingly.

"Then you're even stupider than I thought. Must be excessive contact with half-bloods and the Mudblood bitch."

"That's it!" Harry and Ron jumped up as one, shoving Ginny out of the way who had also jumped to her feet, the cards falling to the floor, brandished their wands and pointed them at Malfoy.

"Out!" Harry shouted, whereas Ron settled for an insult for which Mrs Weasley would have made him de-gnome the garden every day—if she'd heard it.

"Think you can threaten me?"

"Do _you_?" Ron challenged.

Malfoy merely smirked but before he could reply, a girl's voice called his name, "Draco, what's taking you so long?"

He rolled his eyes before throwing another death glare in Harry and Ron's direction. "Nothing, Pansy. And shut up!" he called and added. "Soon it will be nothing at all. Watch your back, Potter. Last night was only the beginning."

With that, he turned, squeezed through the narrow gap between Crabbe and Goyle and was gone.

"We should have taken points from him," Ron muttered. "Can we do that before the start of term?" He arranged his Head Boy badge, looking eerily like Percy as he did so.

"We could. A round fifty," Hermione agreed, slamming her book shut, "if we wanted to."

"At least," Ginny said, a murderous look on her face.

"The more the merrier," said Harry dryly. "He cost us more points than Snape and McGonagall could ever have taken away on their own."

They picked up their Exploding Snap cards again and started on another game as it was hardly possible to determine which cards were whose anymore.

After a while, Ginny spoke up, a thoughtful look on her face. "What happened last night?"

"Well if you don't remember…" Harry began.

"No. I mean, yes. I remember what happened in my room—." ("Oh, please!" Ron exclaimed. Harry blushed. Ginny rolled her eyes, and Hermione quickly stifled a giggle.) "But honestly, Malfoy said that last night had only been the beginning. What happened last night?" She furrowed her brows in puzzlement.

Harry's face must have displayed an expression similar to the ones he saw on the others' faces.

"I don't know…"

The compartment door opened again.

"What is it now?" Ron said, not even looking up from his cards. "Go and bother someone else, Malf—!"

"Erm…" a small voice answered, "Excuse me?"

Harry looked up from his cards. "Oh. Hi."

There was a girl standing in the doorway. Harry knew her by sight although they'd never spoken to each other. She must be a third or fourth-year; Harry did the calculation.

"Well, unless Malfoy had some serious hexes hurled at him…" Hermione said.

"Oops, my fault. Didn't want to be rude," Ron apologised. "At least not to you. So, no offence."

"None taken," the girl said softly.

"Can we help you?" Harry asked, as she appeared to be quite shy.

"Hi, Harry," the girl began hesitantly. "Sorry, I just wanted to ask… You haven't seen Josie, have you? I thought she might be with someone who's also on the Quidditch team."

"No," Harry said. "Haven't seen her. Why?"

"Me neither," said Ron.

Ginny and Hermione shook their heads. "Sorry."

"Oh, well, we've probably just missed each other. Excuse me."

"No problem." 

"If we see her we'll tell her you're looking for her… er…"

"Rebecca," she smiled. "You wouldn't know my name."

"Rebecca," Harry repeated. "We'll tell her if she drops in here, looking for you."

"Thanks. See you." The door closed.

"It's like a beehive in here," Ron said, shaking his head and returning his attention to his hand.

**~*~*~**

As their journey northward progressed, it started raining outside; thunder rolled in the distance as a bright blue bolt of lightning zigzagged over the previously gentle violet and orange evening sky. Within a matter of moments it became dark as the deepest night, numerous bolts of lightning illuminating the dark clouds as another clash of thunder rolled over the sky, the rain splashing violently against the windowpanes.

"We'd better put on our school robes. It's only a few more minutes," Hermione said, finally shoving the book back inside her bag.

They did as Hermione had suggested and soon arrived at Hogsmeade station. It took her a while to persuade Crookshanks to crawl back into his basket. What seemed to convince him to do so was neither Hermione's prompting nor Ron's irritation at the cat's behaviour but the fact that another clash of thunder rolled outside and that the rain was by now coming down in buckets.

"If only we were already at the castle," Ginny muttered, as they left the train. "This is going to be the worst storm we ever had."

"Ghastly weather," Harry agreed, casting an Impervius Charm on his glasses. "Look. There's Hagrid."

Hagrid was hardly to miss since he held up a gigantic yellow umbrella.

"It's a miracle if he's not struck by lightning," Ginny said.

"Firs' years over here!" Hagrid shouted over the thunderstorm. "Firs' years come here! Don't yeh worry—Hi there, Harry!" he called and waved.

Harry waved back before Ginny pulled him towards the carriages and inside the one Ron and Hermione were already sitting in. Hermione was wringing out her soaked clothes and hair. To put it mildly, her hair wasn't even remotely as bushy as usual at that moment.

The sound of falling rain and thunder accompanied them on the last part of their journey to Hogwarts. They could hardly wait to arrive there, enter the warm and cosy and above all _dry_ Great Hall and leave the ghastly weather behind.

The carriages stopped at the front doors and the students prepared to jump out and run into the castle as quickly as possible.

That proved unnecessary since—.

"Miss Granger, Mr Weasley?" Professor McGonagall approached them as soon as she had seen them get out of the carriage. She, too, was holding a huge umbrella—although not quite as gigantic as Hagrid's—in her hand to shield herself from the rain and wind. It looked like it would be an enormous thunderstorm.

"Good evening, Professor McGonagall," Hermione said.

"Good evening… Erm, listen, there's something I have to talk to you about. If you'd be so kind as to accompany me to my office? We won't be disturbed there."

"Sure," Ron and Hermione said as one and exchanged worried glances at McGonagall's expression.

"I'll wait—."

"Perhaps, Mr Potter, you should come, too. It's… well… It concerns you, too. Actually, it concerns all of us…"

Harry nodded. "See you, Gin. I'm sure it won't take long."

"Okay," Ginny tried an encouraging smile before she ran inside. Harry, Ron and Hermione were reasonably protected by Professor McGonagall's umbrella as they followed her inside.

Professor McGonagall led them up the marble staircase and along the first floor corridor until they arrived at her office door.

"Please come inside," she said, and they did so, exchanging some uneasy glances. What ever could be of such importance that the Professor needed to speak to them alone and in her office? Why this secrecy? They hadn't done anything that could be regarded as rule breaking. Well, not yet. Besides, the Professor looked far too anxious for the matter to be something as simple as the taking away of a few house points.

Professor McGonagall sat down at her desk, gesturing for them to sit down also.

"I have been entrusted to break some awful news to the Head Boy and Girl. I do not envy you of the task that is upon you two, since it is upon you to inform the students of Gryffindor House before the Headmaster tells the whole school. Prepare our House for what he will tell—."

"What's wrong, Professor McGonagall?" Hermione asked, concerned.

Harry, too, was concerned. Why was the usually so straightforward Professor beating about the bush? If only she'd get the 'awful news' out and let them see for themselves if it was so very awful as she made it seem.

"Yes, what is it, Professor? And what am _I_ doing here?" Harry asked.

"Mr Potter, you as the Quidditch Captain are also facing a crisis, since, you see," McGonagall took a deep breath, "Josie Lane is no longer with us."

"What do you mean, no longer with us?" Ron asked. "Where is she?"

"Professor, she's not…" Hermione began.

"I'm afraid so, Miss Granger," McGonagall said softly, pulled out a handkerchief and blew her nose. "Josie is dead."

Silence fell heavily on them when the Professor had finished speaking.

Harry jumped up and walked to the window, looking out over the Quidditch pitch, which was illuminated by a series of lightning bolts. "How?" he asked hoarsely. "How did it happen?" Harry knew the answer before the Professor confirmed his suspicions.

"Death Eater attack," McGonagall replied. "Last night. Early morning to be precise. That's why the news has not spread yet. I myself received it only an hour ago."

"We'll break it to the Gryffindors, Professor," Ron said. "Count on us."

"Good. Now for practical matters," McGonagall said, sounding more like the Professor McGonagall Harry was used to. "As the Gryffindor Captain you should perhaps consider to schedule Quidditch tryouts, Mr Potter. The team needs a new Chaser."

"Yes, Professor."

"I expect you to play just as well as the previous years. We'll show them that for every one they kill, there are many others willing to take their place. We do that in the grander scheme of the wizarding world. Let's do it also in the small community that is Hogwarts."

Harry nodded and saw Ron and Hermione do the same.

"Dismissed," she said as they left the office. "I wish the new school year had started more cheerfully."

"Let's hurry," said Hermione.

"She would have been in her fourth year," Ron said. "I liked her. She was fast."

"Rebecca won't get over it easily," Harry muttered.

"Who?"

"The girl on the train. She was looking for Josie, remember?" Hermione said.

"Oh."

In silence, they made their way back down the marble staircase to the Entrance Hall and slipped into the Great Hall where the Sorting was just about to begin. McGonagall was already there. Obviously, she knew a shortcut. Harry made a mental note to consult the Marauder's Map on that particular passage some time or other.

They'd missed the Sorting Hat's song. 

Quickly they made their way towards the Gryffindor table. Once they'd arrived, there they started explaining to Ginny what McGonagall had told them while the Professor set the Sorting Hat on the first new student to be Sorted. 

Ginny gave Harry a kiss on the cheek to soothe him and hugged him; actions that still made him blush crimson—even though she'd done this dozens of times already. Ginny had once commented that the colour his face turned under circumstances like this complemented her hair beautifully. He had no idea if that was really so or if she only teased him with comments like this…

Josie. Dead. She'd made the team when Harry had been made Captain two years ago, when almost the entire old team had graduated. She had been so talented. Ron had always joked that she'd been Angelina Johnson and Katie Bell combined in one. She'd been small and fast. She'd have made one hell of a Seeker if Harry hadn't been on the team. As soon as Harry would have left Hogwarts, who could tell if the new Captain wouldn't have made her a Seeker? Well, that would not happen.

Because the Death Eaters had struck once more. 

Ron and Hermione went off to inform the other Gryffindors. The girl Harry knew as Rebecca by now looked very anxious already, looking up and down the table and back again. As Hermione bent down to her and—Harry was sure about that as she had always been more sensitive than Ron—gently broke the worst news a friend could ever get about his or her friend to her, Rebecca immediately broke into tears and cried miserably, while Professor McGonagall only threw her a sad and compassionate glance but continued with the Sorting of far more careless first-years.

Dennis Creevey who was sitting next to the girl gently tried to comfort her. He had been a close friend of Josie's, too. This wasn't unusual since Josie had been in his year. He had seen her in most of his classes. The girl, however, seemed beyond comfort and tried desperately to muffle her sobs. Dennis was as shaken as everyone else and threw Harry a helpless glance from where he was; his blue eyes were strangely bright.

The atmosphere was quite subdued from then on. The first-year Gryffindors were at first puzzled why they didn't receive as much applause as, say, the new Slytherins.

Ron and Hermione took their respective seats again, looking very pale and depressed.

"I never want to have to do that again," Ron whispered shakily, his face very white. Hermione said nothing. At that moment, it was very likely that she didn't trust her voice enough to speak.

Harry didn't feel like talking either. Somehow, the full impact had only hit him a few moments ago when he had told Ginny. His mind hadn't quite grasped the meaning of "Josie's dead" when McGonagall had said it, when they had discussed the practical matters of Quidditch tryouts, when they had returned to the Great Hall…

The Sorting continued with Harry hardly paying any attention to anything aside from the fact that Josie wouldn't be there any more. Quidditch tryouts. How could anyone think about something as trivial as Quidditch now? Harry couldn't think as practical as McGonagall. But sooner or later he'd have to.

The threat the Dark side had been posing for quite some time now had become more real. Darkness had revealed its ugly face and thrown a shadow over all of Hogwarts…

However, there was no more time to ponder those things since the doors of the Great Hall were pushed open from the outside and a dripping wet hooded figure dressed all in black scuttled in.

No voice could be heard any longer. The smallest sob was quickly stifled.

A gust of wind swept through the room, the wind howled through the Entrance Hall and into the Great Hall—it almost sounded like whispering voices—until the heavy front doors of the castle fell shut.

Harry shivered for a moment. Thankfully, the figure closed the doors before continuing down the aisle towards the high table.

As it crossed the room in long strides, it lowered the hood of its cloak, revealing the face of a young woman.

She looked quite pretty—although in a quite unusual way—even though she had to walk through the storm. The Dursleys would have suspected her a witch at first sight.

Her oval face was pale, almost too pale to look healthy. But perhaps that was only because of the sharp contrast to her black robes and her heavily soaked hair that was almost black with water. The flickering light of the candles—they still flickered, although the doors were closed—danced over the few long strands that hadn't been restrained in a sophisticated—but now rather drenched—pile on top of her head, making it appear as though there were streaks of a very dark red in it. Her hair was very long, and since it was soaked like her cloak, it looked probably even longer than it actually was. The strands were snaking all the way down well past her hips, almost down to the hollows of her knees.

Tentative whispering voices could be heard, whose content went along the lines of "Who's that?" or "Do you know…?" The still to be Sorted first-years backed up a little.

As she reached the high table, Dumbledore nodded, and she walked around the table and towards him, then extended her hand in greeting. "Professor Dumbledore," she said in a voice that was quite pleasant-sounding.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. If this was a new teacher, a voice like that would be much easier to listen to than, say, something similar to 'Patty-pumpkin's'. He'd had his share of unpleasant voices.

Dumbledore smiled, but didn't take her hand. He drew her into a crushing embrace, apparently not caring that she was dripping wet. They must know each other quite well…

**~*~*~**

She walked up to Dumbledore and extended her hand to greet him. But he pulled her into an embrace, completely ignoring the fact that she was completely soaked. "Sariss. It's good to have you back here, little one," he whispered.

"I'm glad to be back too, Professor. Oh! Sorry," she said sheepishly, noticing that she had quite thoroughly drenched his beard and robes. "Those Impervius Charms really aren't what they are cracked up to be. They don't work so well on clothes; better used on inflexible objects. I shall have to investigate and try to find something of a bit more efficiency."

**Oh no, you won't. You'll be very busy either way. No need to look for more work.**

_No one asked for your opinion._

**No one ever asks me.**

_Yet, you're always commentating on the matters at hand, aren't you?_

**Someone has to. It's my job to be critical and helpful.**

_Helpful?_

"Don't worry about that. A little water won't make leeks sprout out of my beard or something." Then he became sombre. "Listen… My condolences. I really understand why you didn't attend their—."

She held up a hand and interrupted him, "We already had that conversation." Her voice was shaky.

**Don't lose the grip on yourself now. Now is not a good moment for that.**

_I know that!_

**Wait at least until you're alone in your new quarters.**

_YES! You're so annoying. As if I'd ever cry in front of Snape of all people. I can almost sense him glowering at me._

**Have you forgotten—?**

_No, I haven't._

**But—.**

_Not now. I've only just arrived._

"Words tend to have more meaning when they're spoken than when they're merely written down, don't they?"

Sariss shrugged. The subject was closed on her part.

"What kept you so long?" Dumbledore asked kindly when she didn't answer.

"Do you really have to ask? Look out the window. And I'm telling you, what you see out there is only the beginning. Farther east it's much worse—and I didn't even have a hand in it—not that I could deliberately have had a hand in it."

"That bad?"

"If you like to call hailstones as big as chicken eggs in September bad, then yes."

"I see. I'm glad you made it despite the ghastly weather."

"So am I."

"Perhaps you should take your seat. We're holding up the Sorting," he pointed out. "That was quite an entrance by the way."

"Sorry." She smirked.

"No problem. You gave some of the students quite a scare."

"I assure you, as always this was quite unintended."

"In some cases, however, that could prove an advantage…" Dumbledore's eyes twinkled as he said this and he smiled.

_As if I needed a scary entrance to scare children…_

"Well, if you say so," Sariss smiled back weakly, turning to greet the other professors, but was once more stopped by Dumbledore who whispered, "Be careful with Severus. He will not take it lightly that he has been denied the DADA post once again… But I already explained this to you—and him."

"Yes, you did. And I think I can handle him. After all, there has never been bad blood between Professor Snape and me."

**Yet.**

"I really hope you're up to it… You know his temper."

"I know _my_ temper." His eyes twinkled strangely as she said this. 

That said, Sariss moved to walk past Dumbledore, but felt a hand on her shoulder. Sariss turned around. "Professor Sprout, hello, sorry, I was a bit preoccupied…" 

Time seemed to stand still at Hogwarts. The Herbology teacher still looked like she had… Was it already ten years?

"It's really nice to see you back here, Miss—Professor Ravon now, is it? You'll have to bear with me forgetting this." Sariss nodded and smiled slightly. "Say, you don't think you can give some students a bit of detention soon? The Venomous Tentaculas need some clipping…"

"Any preferences?" Sariss asked dryly. Professor Sprout must have found this incredibly funny since she grinned from ear to ear. Admittedly, it was funny in a certain respect when one left out a few of the things that had led to this particular detention for certain people Sariss had never been very fond of. That had been a long time ago…

"Just kidding—but nonetheless…"

"I understand," Sariss said and nodded once more at Professor Sprout and the other teachers on this side of the table—some of them she knew; others she did not know yet. Then she made her way around Dumbledore's chair towards tiny Professor Flitwick on whose chair had been set a wooden chest so he could look over the table and reach his goblet and plate as soon as the feast began.

"Miss Ravon," Flitwick squealed. 

"Professor Flitwick." He grasped her hand and shook it energetically. When he let go he rubbed the hand he'd touched her with furiously with his other hand—Sariss knew her hands were as cold as ice; and not just because she had just walked through a thunderstorm and was still dripping wet—but thankfully his smile did not even waver.

"What a pleasant surprise it was when I heard that another one of my former students would be teaching here—oh, but then it's _Professor_ Ravon… Anyway, very nice, very nice indeed."

Sariss returned his smile, remembering to cast a weak Drying Charm on herself. With a small wrist movement, she did so. The warmth of the Charm washed over her for a moment, drying her clothes—and then was gone as if it had never been there. It had always been like that.

"Lovely Charm-work, really," said tiny Professor Flitwick and Sariss's smile came without too much force.

"Good ter see yeh, li'l girl," said Hagrid's booming voice from the far end of the table.

"Hullo, Hagrid." He was still big and very hairy, exactly like he had been when Sariss had left Hogwarts. "Good to see you're well."

"Couldn't be better," he replied with a broad smile. It was hardly visible because of all that hair, but one could always see him smile when one looked at his eyes.

She still felt a bit uncomfortable with all this enthusiasm over her presence here—but in a certain respect, it _was _nice to have this feeling envelop her like a blanket—if only a very thin one…

However, about a second later, she didn't have to care about enthusiasm anymore, since Professor Severus Snape, her former Potions master and Head of House, stood and extended his hand towards her. She could tell it was a forced gesture. After Dumbledore's letter, she'd expected something like this. Snape did not take kindly to those who _stole_ the position he'd desired for a very long time—but who would grant him his wish knowing that he had been a Death Eater once? _Lead us not into temptation… _

It must anger him beyond reason that he'd been denied the position as Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher once more, because of a woman, a girl he'd once taught Potions. He was apparently a bit chauvinistic and narrow-minded when it came to the Dark Arts, wasn't he? 

Did she blame him for that? She wasn't quite sure what to make of him.

He did have much experience in this particular area—but so did she now, even if it was from a different point of view…

"Miss Ravon," he said frostily.

"Professor Snape," she answered, accepting his hand.

He flinched at her touch and drew his hand back extremely quickly. To Sariss it felt as though she'd closed an electric circuit. Perhaps the static electricity of the thunderstorm had somehow put her hair on charge and then… No, since when did that happen to damp hair? She must have imagined it. Besides, it was stupid to even think there could be a natural explanation for Snape's so very visible flinch. The far more obvious reason was all too unnatural.

**Don't show that he managed to make you—.**

_But he did._

Right, as if it wasn't enough that because of her position at Hogwarts she had become his natural enemy. Couldn't he have drawn back his hand a bit more subtly, without making her feel… repulsive? For a fraction of a second, she closed her eyes in defeat.

This was even worse than she had feared.

But the way he was looking at her now… He looked… startled, perhaps even a bit puzzled? Who could tell his expression?

_Well, one thing's for sure. He guards his emotions well._

**It's not as though you could really read them now, is it?**

_Unfortunately… Or fortunately._

**Next chapter:**

Snape's POV on Sariss, a flashback with my very own Sorting Hat song, a look at the usual quarters of a Hogwarts DADA teacher. Sariss holds her first lesson ever—and kind of likes it. And Harry feels that something's not quite right…


	5. Here We Are Again

Chapter 4: Here We Are Again

Lives move in a chalk line,  
Chains that define who I am  
Here we are again.

_—Remy Zero: Gramarye_

_Well, there she is. Finally. And late._

**What did you expect? She's a woman. Women are always late. Not that you actually had to wait for one in how long a time? Fifteen years? Eighteen years?**

_Thanks for reminding me._

**My pleasure.**

_And how welcome she is._

**That could be expected. Jealous, are you?**

_Why should I?_

**She's what you want.**

_She has the position I want. Nothing else._

**Despite everything, she's appreciated. More than you.**

_I don't care._

**She's become quite pretty, don't you think?**

_I'm not paying attention to her looks. Looks can be deceiving—but she's always been a pale little girl._

**Really? Then what about—?**

_Don't you dare go there again! Well, alright, at second thought, she's rather pretty. So what? She's not much more than that. Not to me anyway._

**For a very _very_ VERY long time, there hasn't been a single female teacher your age in this school…**

_My age? She's a girl for heaven's sake! I'd never even consider her a—._

**Doesn't look like merely a girl to me… Are you blind? She's a beauty—well, at least to your standards. You've always kind of fancied her type, haven't you? **

_Have I?_

**Hey, wait until she's properly dry and had a few square meals to give those cheeks a bit of colour. I'm sure she could be a feast for the eyes if someone told her that. Any volunteers?**

_No way._

**Pity. But you might be right. She doesn't look entirely cheerful to have to—**

_Shut it already. Subject closed._

Snape got up when she approached him, extending his hand to her.

"Miss Ravon," he said.

"Professor Snape," she said quietly, almost timid.

_A girl, indeed._

He could almost see the girl he had once taught in her features—despite the fact that she looked a bit more grown up than he remembered her. Only a bit.

She moved to take his hand. Severus intended to shake hands civilly, just to show that he tried to display a certain amount of kindness—if only for Dumbledore's sake. He could give her a chance, couldn't he? See if she deserved her reputation. After all, she was a Slytherin. That deserved to be appreciated. But not too much. There was still the fact that she was where he'd wanted to be almost for as long as she lived…

Of course, he remembered that her hands were extremely cold. Not that he'd ever touched them directly. As far as he remembered, she had been wearing gloves the one time their hands had met all this time ago, and the coldness had seeped through the satin like water. How long was it? Ten years? Twelve years? He wasn't sure…

Yes, her hands were cold and—.

_Goodness!_

Severus flinched visibly and drew his hand out of her limp grasp. It was not the coldness that made him do so. He didn't mind coldness. His rooms were cold. The dungeons were cold. He himself did his best to appear as cold as he could. Death Eater cold.

But there it was. Death Eater. He had just been violently reminded of his past and pretended present. The Dark Mark had given an almighty and very sudden twitch. He hadn't been prepared for it to come so out of the blue. And now. The damage was already done. That was something he hadn't intended—although he wasn't really sure if he should try to be nice or simply despise that girl for the sole reason that she was here and would teach Defence Against the Dark Arts.

Her flinch didn't escape Severus either. She had noticed. Of course, she had. One could hardly have missed it.

**That was very sensitive. Well done.**

_Strange. Why now? _

**It was pure coincidence. I'm sure.**

_But it didn't hurt like it usually does. Come to think of it, it didn't even feel bad. I was just caught unawares._

**You shouldn't have drawn back that quickly. You've hurt her.**

_I didn't._

**Emotionally, I mean, you insensitive git.**

_She'll get over it._

**Whatever impression you wanted to make, whatever image of yourself you wanted to present… forget it.**

_There is nothing to forget._

"If we could continue…" McGonagall's impatient voice interrupted his thoughts. She was still standing by the stool holding the Sorting Hat over the head of a first-year. The boy was obviously anxious to be finally Sorted.

"Yes, yes, Minerva. Please continue with the Sorting," Dumbledore said and then nodded at Miss Ravon.

**~*~*~**

Sariss sat down on the empty chair next to Professor Flitwick. The unfortunate part of that was that Snape's seat was on her other side. What had everyone been thinking to place her there? With rustling robes, he sat back down.

She did her best not to pay any attention to him and concentrate on the Sorting instead. Damn him to Hell. If he thought he could be that way, fine! Fine! She'd just ignore him. There were enough other people and things at Hogwarts. She didn't need his respect. She didn't need the approval of the arrogant and… yes, impolite—he was indeed impolite, if not downright mean—Potions master. She didn't need _him_.

There was Hogwarts castle. There was Dumbledore. And Hagrid. And the other teachers. It was as though she'd never been away.

Watching the nervous first years being Sorted brought up memories…

**~*~**

_Dumbledore had been waiting for her at the foot of the stairs in the Entrance Hall. He'd insisted she take the Hogwarts Express from London and make the traditional journey over the lake to the castle, as it was the custom for all the first years, even though she had been living at Hogwarts for almost half a year by then…_

_"There's nothing to fear, Sariss," he said, his eyes twinkling merrily. "The Sorting is nothing to fear. You will be Sorted into the house you will do best in; _it_ has never failed in making the right choice."_

_"What is _it_? Please, tell me."_

_"Now, that wouldn't be fair. You knowing what's going to happen when the others don't…" She pouted. His eyes twinkled merrily. "You're going to like it. It's quite a show."_

_"I'm a bit nervous." She played with her sleeve._

_"Don't be. It will take care of you. _It_ has never failed."_

_"Never?"_

_"Never." He smiled down at her. "Now join the other first years again and remember _it_ only takes a look into your heart and soul." He smoothed her hair back and said, "Now hurry up, Professor McGonagall does not like to be kept waiting."_

_She smiled at him, slightly puzzled at what he'd said—she hadn't quite grasped the meaning of his strangely phrased words—and raced towards the other first years again, who were gathered around Professor McGonagall. She explained a few things that Sariss already knew and then led the throng of little boys and girls into the Great Hall._

_A stool was set up; a dirty, rumpled old hat was sitting on it, looking far worse for wear than anything Sariss had ever seen. She was a little startled when it opened a rip near its brim and started to sing… _

Hearken, dear children, listen closely to me  
Devised by the founders I happen to be!

Each one of them, the Hogwarts Great Four  
Put wisdom in me so I'd forevermore  
Judge you by talents, by gifts and by heart  
to tell of which house you shall be a part.

Do diligence and industry set you apart?   
Then Helga Hufflepuff who always worked hard  
Would gladly welcome you into her fold  
Where dwell the gentle and kind as of old.

Rowena Ravenclaw, fair and smart  
Knowledge, and wisdom were her greatest art  
To be in this house you must be quick-witted,  
In love with books; I hope you're no nitwit.

Great Godric Gryffindor, daring and wise  
Stands for bravery not weakness; for truth not for lies  
There's many a kind of courage out there  
If not in yourself you'll find it nowhere.

Salazar Slytherin, devious and sly  
As harmful an enemy, as powerful an ally.   
The gifts he approved of are ambition and cunning.   
You want to be mighty, to this house you're running.

Now try me on and you will see  
Just in which house you ought to be…

_Thundering applause rocked the Great Hall when the Hat had finished its song. It had apparently been one of its better performances._

_"When your name is called up, you will step forward and try on the Sorting Hat," Professor McGonagall instructed the nervous first-years._

_"Allen, Rick Eamon!" was the first one to be sorted. Sariss had already spoken to him a bit aboard the Hogwarts Express—more than just a bit actually. _

_So it was that the pale ash-blond boy with a nose that seemed just a tiny little bit too prominent for a boy as small as that, sat on the stool and pulled the Hat over his head. After a minute or so, a voice shouted "SLYTHERIN!" and Sariss realized that it had been the Sorting Hat. So that was how it worked. She smiled. She realized why Dumbledore hadn't told her anything about it, no matter how persistently she may have asked: He hadn't wanted to spoil the surprise. As disappointed as she had been then, she was now glad he hadn't given away the whole procedure since it was so very exciting and fun, too._

_The excitement and happiness around her enveloped her like a warm fluffy blanket and she smiled as the boy scrambled towards the applauding crowd at the Slytherin table when McGonagall called, "Ashley, Jamison Lucas!"_

_A boy with large bright blue eyes and a mop of reddish-blond hair stepped forward. The Hat had hardly touched his head when it decided "HUFFLEPUFF!"_

_After that, it was "Clearwater, Julian Frederick!" —"RAVENCLAW!" and "Crane, Hugh Edward!" who became a Slytherin._

_Then it was "Day, Elisa Nicole!" who was the first Gryffindor that year and was met with lots of handshakes and playful slaps onto her shoulders. Sariss could—even from a distance—see that the girl was blushing furiously but also smiling broadly._

_Sariss started to get bored—it would be a while till McGonagall reached the letter R—and began twirling a loose curl of her slightly past-shoulder-length hair around her finger, sometimes drawing it straight and letting it bounce back to its original shape. She heard the names but didn't really pay attention which house the person in question was Sorted into. Instead, she looked around in the Great Hall. She had been there before. Often. She had spent almost a year here already before school had started for her. For protection… In four days she would celebrate her eleventh birthday—or rather not celebrate it. It had stopped being a day for celebration almost exactly a year ago. Tears started threatening her again, but she had learnt how to fight them and everything else back so she didn't accidentally make something happen—explode, that is, or something like that…_

_She forced herself to pay more attention to the Sorting, as a distraction. "Laveau, Susan Marie" and "Lestrange, Chloe Morghanna" were Sorted into Slytherin—Sariss had met them aboard the Hogwarts Express (and didn't like them at all)._

_Then a silvery-haired boy who was quite tall for his age and went by the name "Malfoy, Seth Salazar" was announced a "SLYTHERIN!" and strode towards the Slytherin table throwing a glance over his shoulder towards the remaining first-years. Him, she had also met—and she loathed him already. Everything about him screamed 'Death Eater'… Strange how sometimes you only had to look a person in the eyes or feel the vibrations emanating from them to be able to tell instantly if you liked them or not._

_Finally, Professor McGonagall called, "Ravon, Sariss Electra!"_

_She went cold unexpectedly, her stomach clenching itself together. She gulped. All of a sudden, it wasn't so very exciting anymore—it was closer to being terrifying. As she walked towards the stool, she could feel that everybody's eyes were now on her—she wondered if it had felt the same way for the others—she suddenly found the pattern on the floor exceptionally interesting. Finally, after an eternity it seemed, she managed to reach the stool, sat down and popped the Sorting Hat over her head. It fell over her eyes and she stared at the dark inside of the Hat, when suddenly a voice spoke in her ear._

_"Hmm… Now there's a challenge… That's some very interesting personality and character traits you have there…" The Hat paused, thinking hard apparently. "Very interesting," it mused. "Very complicated character, complex mind…" it continued as if deep in thought. "Let's see. Definitely not a Hufflepuff that much I can tell even now…" _

Put me into Slytherin. 

_The thought involuntarily struck her mind, and then, _

There's not a single wizard who went to the Dark side who wasn't in Slytherin…

_"Slytherin, you say, my dear? At first sight, I think you'd be doing best in Ravenclaw or… Gryffindor would not be too far-fetched either… if you ask me… You're not stupid and you have your heart in the right place, I think… And highly gifted with many talents too… It's not the thirst for power that drives you to Slytherin. You already have that—," it sounded amazed, "—and you don't even want it…" _

_It seemed to ponder a bit now. "Hmm…" it made. _

Come on!

_"Hmm… Oh, but how very determined you are! Eager to prove yourself worthy, aren't you? And there's _something_… Indeed, yes, now I understand…" _

Remember, it only takes a look into your heart and soul…

_"Nonetheless Ravenclaw would suit you; you see, you'd be doing well there…" _

Sort me into Slytherin; sort me into Slytherin, _she thought desperately, having made up her mind._

_"Call me curious, but if you'd please be so kind as to tell me, why exactly that is your wish?" _

_The thought popped up in her mind before she could think of anything else, a thought not quite like what one would have expected of a hardly eleven-year-old child. _

Know thine enemy… 

_"I see…" It paused again, but only for a few seconds, and then. "Well, you'll find and fulfil your destiny either way… Might even prove useful… Hmm… Difficult… But if you're sure, who am I to object? You'll be a… SLYTHERIN!" the Hat shouted out loud and she was met with the usual suspended applause from the Slytherin table, where she sat down next to Rick Allen who immediately involved her in a conversation about how surprised he had been when the Hat had Sorted him into Slytherin. "I wonder what my parents are going to say to this. You see, they were both in Ravenclaw…" _

_Chancing a glance at Dumbledore she caught his gaze and was amazed that he was smiling at her knowingly—as if he had known it all along, as if he had expected it—not in the least startled, surprised or disappointed. It was reassuring and made her feel safe and protected. _

_The Sorting continued. "Ryan, Henry James" became a Ravenclaw, whereas "Rosier, Azrael Evan" became a Slytherin. _

Rosier…

_And when "Shade, Aurora Dawn" ("SLYTHERIN!")—a girl with a mop of jet-black hair Sariss had shared a bag of Bertie Botts' Every Flavour Beans on the Hogwarts Express with—sat down on her other side and smiled at her, she felt the choice she had made had not been that bad after all. Apparently, it was that Sariss managed to make friends despite everything…_

_After that there was only "Wilkes, Thaddeus Thanatos" left, who also became a Slytherin…_

And Wilkes…

_Yes, she had asked to be a Slytherin. She'd wanted to know as much about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named—whom braver people than Cornelius Fudge called Lord Voldemort—and his followers as possible. She'd wanted revenge, satisfaction. A hardly eleven-year-old girl was driven by the thirst for revenge!_

_And then, only a few weeks later, he'd fallen. No one could ever tell her exactly why. The only thing the wizarding world knew was that he'd tried to kill a baby—and failed. Little Harry Potter he couldn't kill…_

**~*~**

Sariss jerked out of her reverie when McGonagall's voice spoke in her ear. "Good luck. I do hope you can deal with Severus."

What? Granted, Snape wasn't being the nicest person in the world, but why was it that everyone seemed to think Snape would rip her head off?

Dumbledore stood up to make his traditional speech as soon as McGonagall had taken her seat.

"I'm pleased that so many new faces have come to Hogwarts. And I am glad to see this castle alive with voices and the trampling of many different-sized feet again. However—as some of you might not know yet—there has been another attack… I ask you for a minute of silence in memory of Gryffindor Chaser Josie Lane, another innocent and brave soul the Dark side has violently ripped out of a life that had hardly begun…"

_Another victim of the Dark Lord? Why does it never stop?_

**One day it will stop.**

_And why? What ever could stop him?_

**I don't know. You? **

_I'd just love to do that. He ruined my life. Twice._

**As to why… Because it can't go on like that. It mustn't.**

"Thank you. We'll never forget her," Dumbledore nodded his approval.

"Now for practical matters. As most of you might already have guessed, I managed to talk an old friend into accepting the post Professor Moody unfortunately chose to vacate at the end of last year. We have a new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, another one of our Slytherin Alumni."

Hear, hear. So Mad-eye Moody had been a teacher here? Well, if that was so, those children could take a lot. Especially since a few years ago there had been the Crouch-affair, a highly unpleasant thing, in the wake of which the Dark Lord had reclaimed some of his former power. Sariss had kind of missed out on the fact that the real Moody had been teaching at Hogwarts for reasons that she'd rather not think of. She had been to busy preventing the worst the Death Eaters could do—and had then… well, she hadn't exactly failed. She merely hadn't been there in the crucial moment… She had saved different lives from those she would have protected with her life if she had had the chance…

"May I introduce to you…" Dumbledore continued and gestured at her, "Miss Sariss Ravon, your DADA mistress."

She stood and nodded at them, smiling slightly, before sitting down again. 

**Sounds good.**

_DADA mistress. That's me._

"And now fill your empty stomachs so that tomorrow your teachers may begin filling your heads with knowledge. Let the feast begin."

It felt strange, surveying the Great Hall from the high table. But one thing she was sure of: Yes, this was home.

Sariss could hardly wait to see her rooms. The rooms that had—in her last year at Hogwarts—belonged to the late Professor Quirrell. Sariss would never have suspected him of joining the Dark Lord. She'd never sensed anything coming from him that had pointed to that. He had been a new teacher. Snape had loathed him from the first moment on… He'd been young, as young as Sariss was now, and, yes, quite handsome actually. Nice voice—although not as nice as Snape's could sound. 

_Did I really think that?_

How a voice could make you leap to conclusions about a person's personality was beyond Sariss. Snape did, most of the time, not sound half as spiteful as he liked to appear. He never had. Not even a few minutes ago. Cold, yes. Detached, yes. But never had he sounded exactly mean. His words could be mean, but the meanness never penetrated his voice completely. How strange was that?

And how strange was it that Sariss actually thought about that?

Be that as it may, Sariss was at Hogwarts; and she was curious as to what her new accommodations would be looking like. The ones she had sort of inherited from Professors Quirrell, Lockhart, Moody (both), and—what had been the name?—Loope, Lupus… Lupin? Yes, the werewolf. It had been a small scandal—although Sariss had merely shrugged. Dumbledore knew what he was doing. Always. If there was anyone whose judgment you could trust, it was Dumbledore. He had helped proving Sirius Black's innocence, too. Sariss had never met him, but she'd heard quite a lot about the whole thing as a child and then years later when he'd escaped from Azkaban. An incredibly brave man. What he must have gone through in prison was hardly imaginable. Fortunately, Sariss never had a close encounter with a Dementor. They were disgusting creatures. Dumbledore had done right in not letting them into Hogwarts, even though he'd been thinking that Black had indeed been a criminal.

Dementors. Sariss didn't have to meet one of them to have the living daylights scared out of her. In that respect, they were second only to the Dark Lord himself.

Sariss found she admired Black in a way. There was even one thing they had in common. The thirst for revenge had made him break out of Azkaban. The same thing kept Sariss going. It was a never-ending fuel…

But not now. For the time being, Sariss would not fight the Dark side actively. For the time being, she'd do something she'd never done before. She'd teach young wizards how to fight the Dark side. She'd try to make them see Darkness as what it was, a devastating, destructive, and violent evil. She would be teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts—for the time being.

She still had to get accustomed to the thought that she had actually chosen to be a teacher—although only at Dumbledore's request. She'd not merely attend the lessons, but she'd be sitting at the teacher's desk. She'd be sitting in her office, grading essays, preparing the following day's lessons… And in the evenings, she'd sit in front of the fireplace in her quarters (they surely had a fireplace), reading up on something. The library must have acquired several new books she could read…

Mmm. The food was still as delicious as Sariss remembered it. Hogwarts must have the most talented house-elves. Rumour had it that Dumbledore even paid some of them a few Galleons per month. Sariss would love to meet one of the elves who demanded to be paid for his or her service, just because she was curious what had given them the idea. It was a good thing, but it was also unusual. Hogwarts had always been a place for the unusual. The one place in the wizarding world where anything was possible…

Much later, the students went to bed, and Sariss, too, wanted to head for her rooms.

"My dear, we share a large part of the way to our rooms, don't we?" said Dumbledore as he accompanied her up the marble staircase.

"Only if they're on the third floor," Sariss answered. She remembered that the office kept jumping between second, third, and fourth floor. Did the private quarters do that, too? Good gracious, if they did that, Sariss would have to write a schedule about when she could enter her rooms from where…

That was funny. Playing hide and seek with a room. Where else but Hogwarts was that possible?

"A good guess," Dumbledore smiled. "Your rooms are a quite jumping lot."

"I'm looking forward to seeing them. It's not every day that a former student sees the private quarters of his or her teachers, is it?"

The headmaster chuckled. "No. No, that would be quite uncommon. By the way, you'll notice a large fireplace in your rooms. I had it magicked there just for you. You still like high temperature, don't you?"

"Yes, indeed. Thank you. But it really wasn't necessary. I'll be okay either way. Cold isn't comfortable but it won't hurt."

"Everything that makes you feel better is necessary," Dumbledore said benignly. "You've grown up, Sariss."

"And you haven't aged a day, sir."

"There. Third floor, indeed. You'll get a feeling for where your rooms are. Don't worry about that."

"A feeling for where they are located? That sounds funny."

"You'll see. The castle has its own way of showing you to the places you ought to be…" he mused. "Good night, my dear. Your luggage has arrived safely and has been taken care of. You'll find all your things in there."

"Thank you. That's good to know. I really have to change."

"And good luck for your lessons tomorrow. Do you think you can sleep? Would you like a potion?"

He still cared for her as if she were twelve years old, as if he were her father, or rather grandfather. 

"No, Professor. I don't dream so much anymore. I need no Dreamless Sleep Potion."

"No more nightmares?"

"Rarely. Very rarely. And if at all, not distinct. Just… images, really. Feelings."

"That's good to hear." He looked relieved. "Well, it seems that you'll be fine."

"Yes, I'm fine. At least for now. Thank you and good night."

"Good night, little one," he murmured and proceeded down the corridor, whereas Sariss opened the door to her rooms and entered.

"Well, hello, study, hello, bedroom and bathroom. I hope I'll be able to find you a bit more easily than it seems to me at the moment… Hmm. Everything's here." She scanned the shelves and her desk and then proceeded into the bedroom. The fireplace was set in the wall in a way that allowed it to turn according to where Sariss was. It only made a slight scraping noise when it changed position. Nice. And a large and very warm fire was flickering in it. An armchair was in the corner between the windows and the fireplace. Another one was in the far corner. Sariss pushed it nearer to the fireplace. Yes, that was good.

Then, Sariss opened the wardrobe that was located opposite the windows. All her clothes seemed to be inside. And they were dry and ironed. The house-elves were really good. On the other wall, next to the head-end of the four-poster, there was a high mirror.

"I should go to bed," Sariss muttered and her reflection agreed, eagerly nodding its head and saying, "You do look tired and even a bit dishevelled I daresay. Long day, huh?"

"You could say that." Sariss prepared herself for bed. 

She sighed as she slipped under the blankets. It was so cosy. And even though Sariss was fairly excited about what the following day would have in store she fell asleep rather quickly and didn't even wake up, as it happened often. 

No, apparently, this was one of the nights she was allowed to be sleeping through, undisturbed by the feeling of emptiness that so often gripped her during the darkest hours of the night…

**~*~*~**

The next day, the first day of lessons that year, Harry sat at the Gryffindor table as the prefects handed out their schedules.

"Oh no! We've got Potions first!" Ron complained. "Couldn't we start nice and slow with Divination?"

"Divination in the morning? Would be nice," Harry said. "That way we could get another hour of sleep—and a headache. I'll never get accustomed to the fumes up there. I wonder what Trelawney burns to make the air that stifling."

"But to see Snape first thing in the morning isn't my idea of a nice start either—."

"I've got DADA first," Ginny said. "I wonder what it's going to be like. I just hope Professor… What was her name again?"

"Ravon," said Hermione. "Yes, her name is Ravon."

"I just hope she's nice. She's a Slytherin."

"Moody was a Slytherin, too," Harry said. "And he was okay—despite his paranoia. Come to think of it… Most of our DADA teachers were Slytherins…"

"I can see a pattern developing here," Ron muttered.

"Well, I'm off. Don't want to be late." Ginny got up. "Just in case she's not as nice as she seems to me. See you."

"She seems nice to her?" Ron asked. "I think she's creepy."

"Creepy?" Hermione echoed.

"Yeah."

"What do you mean with 'creepy'?"

"Strange. Eerie, you know."

"You've only seen her once in your life. You haven't even spoken to her. And you don't like her already?"

"I didn't say that. Besides, sometimes it's enough to see a person and know if you like them or not. However, I'm not quite sure what to make of her. I haven't decided yet."

"Don't worry, Hermione. Ronnikins is afraid of strangers," Harry teased.

"Will you stop calling me that?" Ron said. "Harrykins."

"As Fred and George aren't here, I thought I'd provide the entertainment, and that includes calling you Ronnikins, Ronnikins."

"I could understand that if you were older than me—which you aren't, little Harry."

"Guys, I hate to interrupt you, but as you've said, Potions first thing in the morning," Hermione said, "and we're going to be late if we don't hurry."

"Right. Wouldn't want to give Snape a reason to take away any points, do we?"

"As if he needed a reason…"

**~*~*~**

Sariss was very nervous as she headed to her first teaching lesson ever. It would be the sixth year Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs. The way from her rooms to the classroom was quite short, but seemed to stretch endlessly, as she walked along the third floor corridor.

She had prepared the lesson very thoroughly, going over it in her mind numerous times during the night; she'd woken up early in the morning and couldn't sleep any more. She was excited like a first-year student.

When she entered her old DADA classroom, the students were already sitting at their desks and fell silent at her entry. The typical first school day situation. In a few weeks, their chatter would only die down when she'd have demanded their attention. When Sariss had been a student, it had been that way. Why should it have changed? Children were children. Students were students.

"Good morning to all of you. I am Professor Ravon. I will be teaching you Defence Against the Dark Arts this year. Let's take the roll call first, so that now that you know me, I come to know you as well," she said, trying very much too sound not as nervous as she was. The fact that roundabout everyone else in this class was highly anxious about what the new term would bring, wasn't very helpful. "When I call up your name, you will kindly raise your hand or say yes or something like that, alright?"

Sariss read the list of names, glancing at the students after each of their names. Most of the names she'd never even heard of, but the name Weasley she knew quite well. When had there ever been a time without one or two Weasleys at Hogwarts?

When she'd finished, she felt much calmer, ready to begin the lesson in earnest.

"Right…" she began. "Open your Duelling Hexes book on page fifteen. We'll start with a few only slightly nasty hexes, and near the end of this lesson, we'll hopefully have some time left to practise them a bit. Try to remember the appropriate Blocking Spells as Madam Pomfrey will be busy enough either way if you're not very careful," she advised and sat down on the edge of the teacher's desk. It was strange to be not on the receiving end of a lesson. Sariss had never seen herself as the type to teach children anything. But she felt it was going rather well. The vibrations that came from the students were fine. They listened and paid attention.

_This is easier than I thought…_

"If you'd be so kind as to read the first paragraph, Miss Watson?"

"Yes, Professor," the black-haired girl Sariss had addressed answered and began to read…

**~*~*~**

"So… How is the new teacher?" asked Ron when they sat at lunch.

"She's great," Ginny said. "Honestly. We did some duelling hexes today. And after that, we duelled a bit. She managed to hit me with a tickling curse that lasted for ten minutes. I thought I'd never stop laughing. My belly still hurts. It was so great."

"What's she like?" Hermione asked.

"Oh, well, I guess she's as nervous as we are. She never taught before, you know?"

"And?" said Harry.

"You'll see for yourself. Thursday, isn't it?"

"Yeah," said Harry and Ron.

"I like her. Period." Then Ginny added, "But it feels a bit weird when she's around. Like the air was full of magic. And she seems always a little sad to me. I don't know why. She smiled all the time. And there's something else. You're probably going to say that I've gone completely bonkers now, but she seems a bit familiar to me. Like I'd seen her before…"

"You know what?" said Harry. "I've got a similar feeling."

"What did I say? She's strange," Ron said.

**~*~*~**

"Hello, everyone. As you might already have guessed, I am Professor Ravon and I'll be teaching you Defence Against the Dark Arts this year," the Professor began her lesson as soon as the seventh-year Gryffindors and Slytherins had sat down at their respective desks.

"I thought I'd give all of us an easy start, that is, a revision lesson. Today we'll cover Grindylows, Red Caps and Kappas. I hope it won't be too boring for you to hear about those creatures again. As it is, you should know what they look like. However, I found it not quite safe to go out and catch a few Red Caps and Kappas to bring them here—for reasons that you should know. If you don't, this is your chance to refresh your memory." 

She spoke lightly, her voice was even, and a small smile was plastered into her face. But Ginny had been right. Her eyes looked indeed a bit sad all the time, no matter how light-hearted she might sound.

And yes, there was indeed that strange sense of familiarity that Ginny had pointed out. Harry wouldn't have noticed if Ginny hadn't said something. He couldn't quite fathom why the new Professor seemed so familiar to the two of them. Well, perhaps they were only imagining things.

"The Headmaster informed me that you've already seen a Grindylow. So I dropped my idea of bringing one with me. It's a pity. I would have loved to bring something for demonstration purposes. Well, bear with me. I might just drop in with a Manticore or a monster courtesy of Hagrid's, one day," she joked, her smile growing broader as she mentioned Hagrid and thus revealing a set of white and even teeth. Did she know Hagrid well? The way he had grinned at her at the feast, suggested it. Harry would ask him about her some time or other.

The Professor meanwhile explained the details about a Grindylow's fingers and the purpose the little horns on its head served. It was almost like a dangerous Care of Magical Creatures lesson—although with Hagrid teaching it, that was not entirely correct. He might indeed bring on a Manticore—or an Acromantula by the name of Aragog, for that matter; and Ron would certainly be pleased to see a lot of Aragog's only a little smaller relatives. Not. Ron would get an apoplectic fit—as soon as he'd have recovered from the first shock, that is. And the second and the third…

Anyway, Professor Ravon continued the lesson, asking questions now and then and showing on a map where the species of Grindylows were most commonly found, all over Britain and Ireland, that is. She magicked little pictures of those creatures into the places where those pale green water demons preferably took their lodgings.

"Fine, I think that's all you need to know about the Grindylow. Let's proceed to something more exciting. The Red Caps. You might want to reread page forty-seven of_ A Field Guide to the Little People_ by Nancy Arrowsmith with George Moorse, New York: Hill and Wang, 1977." She wrote it on the blackboard in large even and fluent letters.

"Red Caps are far more vicious creatures. They love bloodshed. Thus, they only can be found in places where blood was shed. Old castles, battlefields or similar places with a history of bloodshed are their preferred areas. They can also be found in many Lowland peel-towers, waiting for an unaware human. Does anyone know why those small Scottish elves are called Red Caps at all?"

Hermione's hand shot up.

"Yes, Miss Granger?" Professor Ravon prompted.

"Their name derives from the fact that the Red Caps' main occupation is colouring their red caps, which they dye with human blood. They throw boulders onto travellers from their towers, then catch the blood in their caps to keep them brightly red."

The Professor beamed at Hermione. "Very good. Take five more points for that. And should you come across creatures that look like short, old elves with a sturdy build, long grey hair and red eyes and they happen to wear a brownish cap, be careful, since they might try to slay you to turn it a lovely shade of red. They're most prevalent in northern Europe, by the way, so watch your back in places you haven't been to before." She magicked pictures onto the map again.

Was it only Harry's impression or had he sensed a dark sense of humour there?

"She just evened the score between Gryffindor and Slytherin," Ron muttered.

"What? You take notes on how many points she awards or takes away?" Hermione whispered. "Ridiculous."

"Not ridiculous. Just curious."

Harry shook his head. But Ron was right. Professor Ravon was indeed handing out points rather evenly. If that would stay that way, only time would tell.

"As soon as the blood dries and the colour fades, the Red Caps look for new victims. However, they do have one use. They can foretell disasters by making a loud noise similar to the beating of flax," she said. "How can you drive them away if they threaten you?"

Hermione's hand shot up first. The Professor smiled at her but shook her head ever so slightly, as if she wanted to say, 'I know that you know it, but there are nineteen other students in this class.'

"Mr Weasley? You haven't said anything yet. Any idea?" she asked, not unkindly.

Ron blushed furiously as the Professor's eyes rested on him, but finally managed, "They're scared of anything that looks like a cross… and it's said that they don't like it if you quote the Bible…" He sounded more as if he were asking a question instead of giving an answer. Since when was Ron so shy in class?

It didn't escape the Professor's notice either.

"Why so shy? That's five points for you, Mr Weasley."

She swished back towards the desk and casually leaned against it.

"Next topic. The Kappa. A water-dweller with webbed hands whose appearance resembles a monkey that is covered in scales instead of fur. They live in shallow ponds and rivers and are most commonly found in Japan." Again, she magicked a small picture into place. That way, Harry found it much easier to remember the countries in which the creatures lived.

"Excuse me, Professor," said Draco Malfoy, "that can't be right. They're native to Mongolia, aren't they?"

"I'm sorry, but no…" Professor Ravon furrowed her brows. "Where did you get that thought from?"

"Professor Snape pointed it out quite some time ago when he was substituting," Hermione spoke up.

"He did? Well, as he was merely substituting, that small error can be forgiven. He was close. But he—as well as you, Mr Malfoy—should have consulted a certain book first, shouldn't he?" Professor Ravon pointed out. The subject was closed. 

"As I was saying," she returned to the topic at hand, "the Kappa is a Japanese water demon…" she repeated for emphasis and indicated the map once more, "that feeds on human blood, but, as strange as this seems, it can be persuaded to not harm a person if said person throws it a cucumber bearing his or her name carved into it. However, as it's quite unlikely for any wizard to always carry a cucumber with them, it should rather be tricked into bowing, since if it does so, the water in the hollow of its head will run out and thus deprive it of all its strength…"

Harry's quill still scribbled furiously. Hermione's birthday present really came in handy. Although Harry wrote fairly fast, his handwriting was much more legible than it had been before he'd been given the special quill. He found his notes did indeed look as if he'd concentrated on writing evenly instead of quickly.

After another few minutes, the Professor chanced a look at her wristwatch. "Well, that's it then. I expect a twelve-inch essay covering today's lesson's topic by Monday. You may leave."

Everyone stuffed their books into their bags and packed up their notes and quill before bidding the Professor good-bye and filing out of the room.

"See? Not all Slytherins are as evil as Malfoy or as… _unpleasant_… as Snape," Harry said, as they made their way along the third floor corridor.

"At least she's not as stupid as Crabbe and Goyle," Ron answered, "or as ugly as Bulstrode, as arrogant as Pansy Parkins—."

"We get the idea, Ron!" Harry interrupted.

"Never mind, but she still gives me the creeps."

"Your face obviously had a different opinion…" Hermione said.

"Blimey, I can' t help it! It's that ruddy Weasley complexion—and it was not because of _that_. She's not a veela, is she? Don't tell me you didn't feel it, too. The way it feels when she looks at us—it's as if she were seeing right through us… Creepy!"

"Really, Ron! I kind of like her; the way she does her lessons, she reminds me a little bit of Professor Lupin."

"At least she seems to know what she's talking about," Harry said. "That's more than you could have asked of Lockhart—or Quirrell—for that matter—."

"Quirrell knew too well for his own good what he was talking about."

"Stop splitting hairs, Ron, will you? You know what I meant. I found the lesson very entertaining."

"Ginny was right," Hermione said. "She's really nice—for a Slytherin, anyway."

They were silent for a while. Then Harry began to speak again shaking his head slightly as he did so. "She kind of reminds me of someone… Argh! I just can't put my finger on it. It's almost as though I'd seen her before," he said. 

"Well, ask her," Ron suggested. 

"Yeah right, waltz up to her and just blurt out 'Say, haven't we met?' Sounds like a bad pick-up line to me." 

"Yeah, that would prove a bit awkward…"

**Next chapter:**

Sariss gets scolded, Snape gets mad, Sariss gets mad too, a lot of memories surface and Hagrid gets a visit.


	6. A Wound Unhealing

**Author's note: **Blaise, you're the best. *hugs* Especially for you (well, not exactly) I included another Potions lesson into this chapter. And Snape gets to be… well… snape-ish.

Chapter 5: A Wound Unhealing

**_Feel the presence all around  
A tortured soul  
A wound unhealing_**

_—Savage Garden: You can still be free_

Sariss ambled down the marble staircase, intending to head for the Great Hall. Dinner would be served; most likely, it had already started, taking into consideration that no student could be seen. When she had reached the foot of the stairs, she heard a voice.

"Miss Ravon?"

Severus Snape stepped out of the shadows. She looked at him, raising her eyebrows, thus prompting him to state his business.

"May I have a word with you?"

"What is it, Professor?" She cautiously narrowed her eyes at the vibrations that came from him. Suppressed anger. Not that that was so unusual—this was after all _Snape_!—but nonetheless… Was it directed at her? 

_Not good. _

**Be careful…**

"Perhaps I should express myself a bit more clearly. May I have a word with you _in my office_?"

"Er… sure." And she followed him all the way down to the dungeons into his office.

He closed the office door behind them.

"Sit down, Miss Ravon," he said, indicating a chair. She did so. His voice had a tinge to it that left her no choice.

"Alright then, what is it, Professor?" She tried to sound casual.

"I found it considerably…" he began. "Considerably alarming how you undermine my authority."

_What? What's he talking about?_

**I don't know. You haven't used up the last bit of fluxweed, have you?**

_I haven't even set foot into that damned dungeon of his!_

"Excuse me?" Sariss was confused. What was this all about? She hadn't even—.

"The way you undermine my authority in your lessons."

"What?" Sariss racked her brain. What had she said or done that could have offended him? And, above all, how should he know about anything she might have said or done? She really had no idea what this was about. Sariss glanced up in confusion at the Potions master who was towering over her. A vein could be seen, throbbing at his temple. His black eyes glared down on her, boring into hers. She could see her reflection in his eyes.

If she had still been his student, he might have scared her. Well, not anymore. She simply glared back the same way he did.

"How clearly do I have to state it, so it penetrates this thick skull of yours?"

"A bit more clearly than that, thank you very much!" she hissed, getting angry. There was only so much she could take without throwing it back at him.

"What was it you said? 'Perhaps he should have consulted a certain book?'" 

"Wha—?"

It dawned on her. _Malfoy. Definitely Malfoy. He's exactly the type to run to his Head of House because of such a triviality. A typical Malfoy. The little—._

Sariss opened her mouth. For a second no sound would come out. Then she snorted; a part of her was suddenly highly amused at the absurdity of this conversation. "What?" she almost laughed. "You take me all the way down here to talk about a single sentence? A sentence I haven't wasted a second thought to since I said it, a sentence I don't even clearly _remember_ saying?"

"Apparently, or so it seems, Miss Ravon, you haven't thought _before_ you said it, either!" he hissed. "Are you thinking at all?"

"Oh, please! This is getting ridiculous!" She rolled her eyes in exasperation. She was about to get _really_ angry. One pointed remark of his, one single wrongly phrased sentence, would be enough to make her explode. 

"It is not! This is a matter of authority and respect, which I can't see you showing me."

"I'll display my respect towards you as soon as you show some towards me. Deal?"

"I can't remember when I haven't done so, Miss Ravon. I think I deserve it that you be a tinge more cooperative and thoughtful, if your temper should allow it, of course."

"My temper. There's something I haven't heard before. Not." Somehow, she still managed to keep calm and morbidly amused.

"I forgot to mention 'polite.'"

"I have been as polite as you could ever expect from me, considering the fact that you keep looking at me as though I were a bug." She was surprised at how calm she managed to sound. "Not even when I was a student you treated me like that. What the hell is wrong with you?"

"The question should rather be phrased 'What's wrong with _you_, Miss Ravon?'"

She flinched. Trust him to aim where it would hurt. And hurt it did.

"There's no more wrong with me than has always been—," she said softly, her voice trembling. She hated herself for it.

_Trust this man to hit a nerve…_

She only hesitated the fraction of a second before striking back. If he wanted to play dirty… "—apart from having the job _you_ want, that is," Sariss's voice had considerably increased in volume, "as if it wasn't only logical—."

He interrupted her. "Damn right, I wanted it," he admitted, which was rather surprising. "But I know as well as you that I won't get it, alright? Least of all now. And this is not the point here anyway, Miss Ravon."

_He simply keeps calling me 'Miss Ravon.'_

**It's your name, dear.**

_It is. But do I call him Mister Snape? That would be his name._

**No…**

_See? He'd be quite displeased, too, if I said that._

**Nice choice of words… Well, do it, then.**

_You've got to be kidding. He'd rip my head off._

**As if he could.**

_Right. He probably wouldn't be able to… But he might try…_

**Now _you're_ kidding.**

_Yes, I am. But if he 'Miss Ravon's me one more time I'll guarantee for nothing…_

"And what _is_ the point, if you'd be so kind as to let me in on it?" Sariss growled.

"Your lacking respect for me—or rather the complete absence thereof," he snarled back, glaring daggers at her as he had done for quite some time now.

"Hah! Listen to yourself!" Finally, she'd caught on what this was all about. "This is solely about your ego! I don't believe it!"

"It is solely about the fact that the students—." 

"The students! This is about anything _but_ the students. They don't care about what I said. They probably have forgotten it already! And they care no more for what you said than you care about them. They don't give a damn about you and you don't give a damn about anyone. You don't care what they think about you! You don't give a damn about anything but yourself!"__

He looked a bit taken aback now. It was as if a mask had slipped over his face, over his emotional state. "Miss Ravon, I won't—." 

However, now that Sariss had launched into a verbal attack, there was no stopping her. Everything that had irked her since she'd arrived at Hogwarts and mostly in the last few minutes surfaced suddenly and she couldn't hold it back, couldn't swallow her indignation any longer. 

"And don't even try to tell me that what I just said isn't the truth! You may fool yourself, but you can't fool me. Not when I can sense you all too clearly now when you're alone with me. Everything else you might feel is being covered by this constant anger. You're so angry with everything around you and just because you're angry with yourself—."

"Enough! I'm not going to—."

"I know you, Professor Snape! Tell me one thing. Why does shame and self-loathing become cruelty?"

"Be careful what you're saying, Miss Ravon. I will not be spoken to like that!" he shouted.

"Don't _Miss_ Ravon me!" she hissed. "I am a Professor, just like you are and no student you can bully around as you like! And you will treat me that way! All I'm goddamn trying to do is my job! Do you want me to write a bloody _essay _about what I might be intending to say tomorrow so you can approve of it, cross out what doesn't agree with you?!"

"You're skirting the issue, Miss—I only wanted to set things straight. It's—."

"And to do that you had to take me straight into—would it be too much of an exaggeration if I called it 'enemy territory' now?"

"Enemy territory! You can most certainly call my office that, now that this conversation has turned into an unpleasant argument!"

She had stood up while he said this and glared at him now with a look that could have melted all the glaciers that covered the surface of the earth within an instant. "That would have required a conversation first, of which there wasn't the slightest trace. Unpleasant, my foot," she spat.

"How was I supposed to know that you possess such small an amount of self-control? Can't take any criticism, can we?"

"_We_ most certainly can take criticism as long as it's constructive and not just there for the sole reason that you feel that something has been taken from you by me, although, at closer inspection, that can't be quite right, can it?" Oh, yes, she could play dirty, too. "Can't bear to hear the truth spelt out, can we?"

"Miss Ravon, has anybody ever told you that you have exactly the temper to turn every halfway civilized argument into a highly nasty and unpleasant row?" Snape snarled.

"Halfway civilized…" she muttered. "Perhaps it wouldn't have become half as unpleasant with other people around. It would certainly have cooled _your_ temper!"

_And thus mine, too._

Their eyes had locked during the last sentence. Sariss tried not to blink. This was like staring out a Hippogriff… until it got scared and rose into the air…

The tension could have been cut with a knife.

When Snape opened his mouth—most certainly to yell at her again, which she couldn't stand; she couldn't bear being shouted at since—_no don't think about that now_—a noise of shattering glass could be heard. Several glasses. Quite a lot, actually. Sariss winced. So did he.

And—using the distraction—she rushed past the Potions master, all but ripped the door from its hinges, walked out and slammed it shut in a way that must have rocked the very foundations of the castle.

Sariss was furious. It hadn't been much of a problem, yet she had exploded—well, made something explode, to be accurate. How could she not? With that man near, how could she not lose it? How could she not react to his anger?

Deciding that she'd rather not cross anybody's path before her temper had cooled down a bit, she made her way out of the castle and took off in direction of the lake. She ignored the fact that it was raining, not only raining but pouring cats and dogs—fortunately an expression that was not taken literally, not even in the wizarding world.

Once she'd arrived there, she slumped to the ground, gasping for air since she'd been running, and buried her face in her hands, her hair falling down all around her, the magically created bun coming undone, soaked, and heavy with rainwater.

She shouldn't have let him make her lose control. She never wanted something like that to happen. Snape was mentally as scarred as she. That shouldn't have happened. On Sariss's part, it had been completely unintended. How was she supposed to fix this tremendous mistake? How could she ever try to make it undone? How was she supposed to look him in the eye now?

**As always. You won't look him in the eye. You never did. Well, up until a short time ago.**

_Why did I have to shout back? I never did. I don't do that._

**It was not only your fault. He had a much greater say in the matter. He should have let you explain, at least. You could have come to an agreement, I'm sure.**

_As if that was of any importance now. How am I supposed to behave around him, now that everything's… I don't know._

Sariss sighed heavily.

After several minutes, the rain fell more softly and a light breeze tore the veil of clouds and made them make way for a gentle evening red, as the rain stopped entirely.

The surface of the lake was once again completely undisturbed and peaceful, as flat and even as the surface of a mirror.

And Sariss, too, had composed herself, forced herself into a calmness. She felt exhausted.

And empty.

**~*~*~**

Severus Snape had stared after her for some fairly long moments.

"What was that?" he asked himself and shook his head. Was that what he had expected? What had he expected at all? That time had stood still for this girl in the meantime? That life hadn't played cruel tricks on her like it had to anyone else? Perhaps even more? He could remember some of them. 

The _Daily Prophet_ had reported enough on Auror missions. She had quite a way with her wand—and without it, too. She had rid the world of some of the worst Death Eaters Severus had ever known. He had to grant her that. He had thought she'd liked the rush of power that overwhelmed you when you cast the Killing curse—although in recent times it was hardly recorded _how_ a Death Eater met his or her untimely end. Thus, it was only an assumption of Severus's. But as a matter of fact, she had resigned _because_ of that curse—or so he had read. He remembered the article now. But only because it had been devastation beyond anything until the Aurors had come.

Severus was still grateful that he hadn't been there that day.

Actually, he hadn't really known that it had been her when he had read the article. The names of the involved Aurors were always kept secret so as not to give the Dark side any ideas.

But Severus had learnt to read between the lines, and Dumbledore had confirmed that it had been her. As Severus perceived it, she had been writing to him on a regular basis, not very often but regularly. The old man would have been concerned otherwise. But she regarded it merely as a necessity to kill the Death Eaters. 

_What else are we supposed to do if they don't surrender and keep cursing everything and everyone around them? Ask them for a second time and be killed in the process? I don't want to kill them, Professor Dumbledore. I try not to. If only it weren't so hard to let go only a little. It always gets out of hand… _I_ always get out of hand…_

That summed it up. Dumbledore had read that excerpt of one of her letters to him. "I'm only glad that she sees it that way," he'd said.

And then Dumbledore had offered her the currently deepest desire of Severus's heart (—not that he'd looked in the Mirror of Erised recently). 

The Dark Arts.

Severus should have grown used to that by now. And indeed, he had. He even accepted it. But did he have to like it?

Severus made his way up towards the Astronomy Tower. He needed to think. And that was done best on an empty stomach and far away from those noisy and annoying students. They were having dinner just now. He'd have some peace and quiet up there. And a lot of fresh late evening air. 

It was raining outside. So he'd get wet. Who cared? The nights weren't too cold as of yet.

When Dumbledore had informed him about the fact that Sariss Ravon would be taking the position of the Defence Against the Dark Art teacher he had been sceptic. Yes, she was good at what she did, perhaps too good—but DADA? Teaching?

Strange how he still had the image of a small pale child before his eyes when he thought about her, a child in need of protection—and not inspiring any protectiveness in anyone—anyone but Dumbledore. The old man had seen a little girl that had just lost the last of her family to the hands of a creature that must have appeared like a living nightmare to her. A little girl. A child. Although a child unlike any other. To Dumbledore she'd been special instantly. To Severus she'd been a student, not to be treated any different from the way he usually treated his Slytherins—better than the others, but no different from each other.

A mere child.

That might have been the reason why _she_ had freaked out that easily, the fact that she had felt he had treated her like a disobedient child, which he had indeed, now that he thought about it… 

She had been a student when he'd only started teaching at Hogwarts, a small, thin, quiet and a bit lonely seeming child—although she'd had two friends who were always somewhere near her. She had constantly been absorbed in a book whenever he saw a glimpse of her. And she had also been a very good student, showing a great deal of talent at Potions bordering on brilliance. Yet, her behaviour was still quite unlike what one expected of a Slytherin. Unusual. 

Even as a child she'd had a very strange aura around her that wouldn't let her go unnoticed—and he had a feeling she'd tried very hard to keep a low profile, only speaking up when asked, never looking into his eyes not even for a second to show that he had her attention. She'd kept her eyes averted but her answers where profound and came without hesitation when he asked her a question. How had she managed to look at his face yet not meeting his gaze?

He'd always thought that child was a mystery, for the seven years he'd taught her in Potions, he had never been able to find out what was just not completely right. He admitted he had not paid very much attention, not any more than he had paid the others. Only when he'd become Head of Slytherin House and he'd tried to know his students better—after all, now they were _his_ students and not just any students anymore—he'd noticed her particular behaviour.

He'd told Dumbledore so and asked about her and her family; she was in his house after all. Dumbledore, however, had only smiled and refused to answer. He'd smiled that knowing smile that always managed to make Severus suspicious that the old man knew too much for his own good and also kept way too many secrets…

But now the little girl had grown up. Severus hadn't been prepared for… _that_. The sharp contrast between the slightly reserved little girl and the… grown-up woman, emanating an air of power that confused him—she must have hidden a great deal of her aura when at school—it confused him just like what had happened when he'd touched her hand on 1st September… 

And he hadn't been prepared for her temper either. Once, in her first year at school, he had shouted at her for making something break, an obvious accident actually. Malfoy, Seth Malfoy that is, had made her freak out that way; Severus only learnt about that later. The boy had constantly been teasing her and pulled pranks on her that bordered on cruelty sometimes. The boy had enjoyed every single time Sariss had lost it and broke something doing spontaneous magic. Severus couldn't even give him detention in most cases. He had to keep up his Death Eater reputation among that lot, particularly around the people related to or associated with the Malfoy family. Severus had only wondered how Sariss had managed not to make Seth explode…

But that had been later. The day Malfoy had made her freak out in Potions class had been one hell of a day. One of those days when he could kill someone for breathing too loud, for smiling too broadly. Simply a very bad day from the moment he had woken up.

The Dark Mark had twitched constantly, like toothache. It did that sometimes—at least when it was livid. Usually it was only annoying, but that day it had been different. He couldn't make it go away by ignoring it. Thus, Severus had been in an extremely bad mood that day. The smallest things could drive him up the wall on days like that. And thus, he had yelled something at her. He didn't even remember what it had been. What he did remember, now that he recalled the memory, was that she had covered her face with her hands and had trembled from head to toe, rocking back and forth, not reacting to what Severus said then (which he didn't remember either), but recoiling when he reached for the little girl's shoulder (_that_, he did remember… all too clearly), only calming down when the girl sitting next to her gently patted her back and told her to take deep breaths so as not to break something else. 

It had been a very awkward situation. For everyone present.

When he had spoken to Dumbledore about it (the man had all but adopted her, after all), the headmaster had told him that being yelled at was more or less the only way to really scare her. A trauma she'd suffered on that certain day that had been as dark for the wizarding world as the night the Potters died… Severus couldn't blame her for that. Even back then he had more than known about the _incident_ that had caused it. It was more than understandable that she couldn't bear raised voices. That _and_ negative feelings… A really bad combination when in the proximity of the little fearful girl, that was.

From that day on, Severus had been more careful around her than before, guarding his feelings, too. Not once had he raised his voice against her after that. Hell, he'd barely _looked_ at her for weeks!

And now, he had forgotten everything he'd ever learnt about her and shouted at her, not even holding back his anger. No wonder that it had been a shattered-glass-situation. But this time she had stood up against the one yelling at her. This time she'd hit back, if only verbally. She had quite a way with words, that one. Her words stung like knives when she wanted to. She'd learnt to strike back. No retreat, no surrender anymore. She was in control.

What a change. What a difference. What a temper.

Severus had arrived at the platform. As the Astronomy Tower was the tallest tower of the castle, he could overlook almost all of Hogwarts' grounds, mainly to the south but also parts of the Forbidden Forest to the east and a corner of the Quidditch pitch to the west. But what he mainly saw was the lake.

The rain wasn't falling so heavily anymore; indeed, after another minute or so it stopped entirely. That was good. Severus preferred it nice and dry—although if he left a trail of puddles behind on his way down, Filch would certainly find some students to—.

Wait a second. There was something black down at the lakeshore, near the cliffs.

A human shape. Severus strained his eyes and shielded them from the setting sun that drenched the few remaining clouds in a reddish orange.

The figure rose. It had been sitting before…

It was she! Had she run out into the rain? Well, of course she had. There was his proof. But why? To calm down? Yes, calm down and catch a ghastly cold. Silly girl. Whenever did that girl think before she did something?

**You really want her to think? When it was you who started it in the first place?**

_She deserved it._

**Did she now?**

_Shut up. I'm trying to ignore her._

She made her way back towards the castle. The closer she came the more clearly Severus could see that her shoulders were slumped, her steps heavy.

Somehow, a small forgotten part of him felt almost sorry.

Almost.

**~*~*~**

Sariss awoke in the early morning hours and checked the time and date. It was 4:12 am on 5th September. It was her twenty-seventh birthday. She stared at the ceiling. 

The memories came down heavily on her…

It had happened exactly seventeen years ago. Her tenth birthday had been the day everything had fallen apart. She didn't remember everything that had happened way back then anymore, but she remembered enough to fill her supply of nightmares in abundance. Fortunately, the dreams had stopped a few years ago—well, almost. They had come less and less frequently… and less and less distinct. But no matter how they diminished, her cursed birthday arrived inevitably.

Regarding her state of mind, the argument with Snape the day before hadn't been very helpful either. Fortunately, Sariss wasn't very receptive to catching a cold. Otherwise she would have caught one, considering the fact how long she had been sitting there at the lake, letting the monstrous powers she had, flow into the air, into the water, making the rain fall all the harder, the surface of the lake seemingly whipped and lashed violently by her mere concentration not to let it get out of hand. She could very well have caused an earthquake. Her mind had been in such turmoil; she might very well have destroyed the beautiful Scottish landscape. With a mere thought, she could have done so. Not really with a conscious thought. Not willingly. She never caused those things willingly. The worst things just happened. She felt it coming when it would happen. And straining against it with all her might, she could rein it in, force it back, at least most of the times. Dumbledore had shown her how to accomplish that. Somehow, it was easier for a short while, when she had let go, even if for only an instant.

Pondering over past events that better lay forgotten, Sariss drifted off to sleep again, a thankfully dark and dreamless sleep.

Later that day, at breakfast, no one mentioned the fact that it was her birthday. The lessons went by smoothly. So did the rest of the day. Of course, it would. After all, Sariss did not even deign to look at Snape out of the corner of her eye. It was so easy to simply act as though he weren't sitting right beside her at the high table, as though he didn't exist at all. An eerie quietness settled over her…

When she put on her nightgown that evening, Sariss was grateful that Dumbledore hadn't insisted on celebrating her birthday. So he still remembered that she'd always thought of her birthday as nothing that would deserve any kind of celebration or even noticing. He seemed to have told the other teachers, too—or maybe they remembered on their own—since nobody made a fuss about her, for which she was eternally grateful.

That night, she went to bed with the thought that another year had thankfully passed.

And the following days and nights went by just as quickly. Getting up, dressing, attending the meals, teaching lessons, grading essays. A regular, steady, only slightly changing schedule every day. No unpleasant surprises. Some other people would have found it boring, this feeling of non-existent change. To Sariss it was soothing to be back at Hogwarts. She'd had her share of variation, of adventure, of danger, of war against the Dark side. If only she could get her hands on Voldemort and have her revenge, simply get it over with. Now it was not only for herself as it had been for years. Now it was also for Rick and Rory. If it hadn't been for the Dark Lord…

**No. Don't go back there. Not even in your mind. You're fine here. This has always been your home. You're at home. Don't think about a war you're no longer an active part of. You've fought enough battles.**

_And I'm still fighting. Against myself. Against Snape._

**It still irks you? That argument?**

_I don't know why. It's just that… I don't know. I don't feel so good about the things I said to him._

**He deserved every single word.**

_You think so?_

**Oh yes.**

_Perhaps I should speak to Professor Dumbledore one day or the other. What do you think?_

**If you think that makes it better.**

_He's the only one I can talk to openly. The only one who understands. The only one left alive._

**Sleep now. You're becoming sad and depressed again. That's not so good and you know it. The utter silence, the emptiness…**

_It's sometimes so loud… But the emotional echoes reverberating inside my head don't feel too good either. I don't know what's better. Silence or this constant pressure of other people's emotions._

**Does pretending not to feel anything yourself make it easier?**

_It never did. Not really… Oh gods, I must remember to get myself some Sleeping Potion. The minutes before falling asleep are just too dark and lonely…_

**~*~**

_Sariss was woken up by a soft hand smoothing over her hair, a voice whispering her name._

_She opened her eyes. A face looked back at her. A beautiful face with large green-brown eyes and reddish brown curls falling slightly past the woman's shoulders. "Hmm? Mum?"_

_"Happy Birthday, honey. Look what I've got for you."_

_Sariss sat up, a bit confused. Was this really happening? But the woman smiled and Sariss simply looked at her and said nothing._

_"Sariss? Are you alright?" _

_"Yes, I am." She smiled back at her mother, throwing her arms around her. "What is it, Mum?" Sariss was a bit startled at the fact that her voice sounded so small and young. But wasn't that normal? Wasn't she a ten-year-old girl?_

_Her mother handed her a letter with a seal. An address was written on it with green ink. "The letter from Hogwarts," they said in unison. _

_"In a bit less than a year you will go there and be safe at last."_

_There was a flash, colours whirled past, voices spoke and fell silent again; the feeling was similar to the one you got when you used a Portkey—and Sariss found herself sitting at the table, a small cake in front of her, a single candle on it. The icing on the cake read 'Happy 10th Birthday'—and Sariss realized that she was dreaming this…_

_"Make a wish," the woman that was her mother said._

_Sariss looked at her for a second. Then she obeyed, closed her eyes, took a deep breath and wished that for once in her life it would turn out different from what she knew._

_It wouldn't. It never did._

_The door burst open. The candle went out. And a hooded figure walked in._

_"No, not you, not now," Sariss's mother said, brandishing her wand, pulling Sariss after her and pushing her behind her to shield her from the figure's view. (Sariss suddenly noticed that she was indeed very small, a child. This was so confusing. Some part of her realized that this wasn't really happening, was it? It had already happened. This was not real—and yet it felt like it…)_

_Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion. Sariss saw the figure draw its hood back, thus revealing its horrible face, and speak to her mother. The girl only stared at the face, those gruesome eyes, the skin that had a leathery look to it, the thin lips that curled in a twisted smile._

_Then he looked at Sariss and the little girl that had been clinging automatically to her mother crawled away into the farthest corner of the room._

_"No! You can't have her!" the woman shouted and launched herself at him._

_"Mum!" Sariss screamed, tears running down her face, frantically scanning the room for something to defend her mother and herself with, for an exit that was not blocked by the horrible figure that was now looming over her mother pointing his wand at her._

_"If that's what you want," he said casually, "Avada Kedavra!"_

_A flash of green light illuminated the room as the woman slumped to the ground. "Mum! No! Mum!" Sariss sobbed, stopping dead in her tracks to get to her mother when the figure started to approach her. The man reached out for her with his claw-like hands…_

_And Sariss screamed and screamed. At the top of her lungs she screamed for her mother, anyone who would hear her…_

**~*~**

Sariss jerked awake, her breath coming in shallow gasps, her own scream echoing inside her head or even her bedroom. She could not tell. And it didn't matter. It was the same. "Only a dream. It was only a dream…" She wiped the tears from her face and slumped back into the pillows, absent-mindedly registering that her nightgown was drenched in cold sweat, and stared at the ceiling. "Only a dream—again," she whispered hollowly and made a mental note to get her hands on some Dreamless Sleep Potion as soon as possible. "Only a dream… After all those years…"

**~*~*~**

It seemed that Double Potions would never end that day. Snape was glaring even at the students of his own house. Malfoy looked extremely nervous about that, which prevented him from adding to Neville's confusion. Poor Neville was having trouble to get his potion to thicken. It seemed that he'd never get that right. Usually Malfoy would gloat and tell Neville to add this and that ingredient to make it better—and, desperate as he was during those parts of the lessons, a panicking Neville would forget that it was Malfoy who was advising him to do that and… Well, let's just say that the consistency of the potion would then be the least of Neville's problems.

Not today though. Although Neville was still having slight difficulties, there was at least no Malfoy to trick him into losing Gryffindor twenty house points.

Hermione had been keeping an eye on Neville's potion, too, although she couldn't tell him what to do—and she had a hard time not to. But Snape looked like the first Gryffindor who'd dare interrupt his lecture on the properties of the potion they were brewing would be force-fed some of Neville's unstable Engorging potion.

However, as Neville tried to get his potion to thicken, he seemed to have reached for the wrong ingredient. Harry knew that it wasn't the right one, but it had to be an extremely wrong one because Hermione did something very stupid (at least it was stupid when you knew Snape's mood that day). Fortunately, Snape was just writing something on the blackboard. Hermione gestured for Neville to please not add it. But as Neville wasn't looking in her direction, that was useless.

"Neville, don't!" Harry shouted.

Too late. Whatever Neville had thrown into the almost acceptable potion made it bubble violently at first, and then the cauldron's content went up and splattered the whole ceiling, dripping down in large khaki-coloured gooey drops. Fortunately, the potion didn't seem to serve another purpose than to look like mud and be of extremely gooey consistence.

A cruel and strangely satisfied smile was lingering on Professor Snape's face when he said, "Potter, you've just volunteered to help Longbottom clean up this mess. And twenty points from Gryffindor. Each."

Harry knew better than to object.

"But Professor Snape," Ron said unwisely. "We've got Quidditch practice scheduled for—."

"You may assist Messrs Potter and Longbottom then. I'm sure you'll manage to survive this evening without your know-it-all _Potions assistant_," Snape drawled and smirked. "Oh, and another twenty points from Gryffindor."

Hermione looked furious. Malfoy looked extremely satisfied. And poor Neville looked extremely downtrodden and ashamed.

"And I want to see three rolls of parchment on the uses of Engorgement potion—," Snape added, "—and don't you dare make bad jokes about its more _vulgar_ uses. It's illegal to use them in that particular way anyway." He threw a look in direction of the Slytherins.

Ron had to suppress a snigger and quickly set to work on some of the gooey substance so that Snape wouldn't notice.

"Class dismissed. You three clean that up—However, if Miss Granger would like to speak in your defence? There's plenty of goo for everyone. One wouldn't believe that Longbottom's cauldron can hold so much garbage if one hadn't seen it for oneself." 

What had gotten into Snape that day? Had he had to be present at a Death Eater meeting? Or was he just trying to compensate something else? Maybe he was merely enjoying himself? As it seemed to be his favourite pastime to bully his Gryffindor students around, the latter option seemed like the most likely one to Harry.

Be that as it may, the man's state of mind didn't seem very stable. Better not annoy Snape when he was in that mood.

"No, Professor Snape," Hermione said, apparently or so it seemed reading Harry's thoughts. She appeared calm and was overly polite now. 

Snape raised an eyebrow as though he were prompting her to put a toe out of line.

She didn't give him that satisfaction.

"If I may leave, Professor?" she asked formally.

Snape jerked his head in direction of the exit. "Go."

After another sneer in Harry's direction, he swished into his office. Harry heard the door close.

Two hours later and aching roundabout everywhere, the three Gryffindors were finally dismissed as the dungeon was sufficiently clean—although not shiny. In essence: Just as usual.

"I'm sorry, guys," said Neville, when they had put a bit of distance between themselves and Snape. He was blushing to the roots of his brown hair. "I'd do anything to not have to take Potions lessons anymore."

"Don't mention it, Neville," said Ron, rubbing his aching back and moaning.

"I'm not getting it," said Harry. "How can you be so good at Herbology and then blow up your cauldron all the time? You know your ingredients, Neville."

"I know them when I'm in the greenhouses. I can't even remember their names when I'm in the dungeons."

"Then you seem to have a bit of a psychological problem here."

"The problem is Snape," said Ron. "You almost had the potion right, this time. If someone could have told you…"

"I'm not daft. Snape has a bad day. Even Malfoy left me alone because of that. And you two shouldn't have stood up for me. I caused the trouble and I should have been the one to clean it up."

"We were trying to help you, Neville."

"And I'm grateful for that. But I need to get through this alone. The N.E.W.Ts will be soon and I'm already revising Potions. I won't be known as the one student who left Hogwarts without even a beginner's level N.E.W.T at Potions."

"So that's why your potion was almost done. You had already read up on that one."

"Yes, but as I've already said, as soon as I'm in the dungeons and Professor Snape expects me to fail…" He sighed. "I fail."

"Heads up, Neville," Harry said encouragingly.

"Yeah, Neville, look at it that way: One day you might blow up Snape!" Ron said cheerfully. "Purely accidentally of course."

Neville sniggered despite himself.

**~*~*~**

Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny had been invited to visit Hagrid for tea some time or other. They agreed to do that Sunday afternoon when everyone—even Ron—had finished their homework for the next week.

It was half past four—the perfect time for tea—when they left the castle and strolled down the lawn towards Hagrid's hut.

The pumpkins in the garden next to the hut came along nicely. They were already about four times as big as the Quaffle. On Hallowe'en, they'd be downright huge and thus part of the decoration in the Great Hall. Hagrid must be using some sort of magic on them. As he was officially allowed to do magic since Dumbledore had appointed him Care of Magical Creatures teacher, there were no more speculations as to the opposite. Harry presumed that there must be Charmed seedlings or some kind of magical fertilizer that would have the same effect, but those fruits were the result of several carefully cast Engorgement Charms.

Fang was nowhere to be seen. He usually lounged near the door, enjoying the sun and jumping up whenever someone he knew came towards his master's home. Not so today. Was Hagrid not at home?

Harry knocked anyway and after a few moments, he could hear Hagrid's thundering footsteps approach the door. So he was at home after all.

It opened.

"Oh, hullo, everyone. Come inside…" He gestured for them to come in and threw the door shut.

They were not his only guests.

Professor Ravon was sitting at the table, looking much less formal without the black wizard's robe she usually wore during the lessons. She could have been a student; so young did she look with her hair plaited into a simple braid and wearing a rose-patterned cream-coloured dress instead of her usual black one. It was strange to see something of a different colour than black on her. 

Fang had his huge head on her thigh and visibly enjoyed being cuddled and stroked by the for once genuinely smiling woman. She was pretty when she smiled. When the smile was a real one.

"You were expecting more guests?" she asked not unkindly. "Hullo."

"Good afternoon, Professor," said Ginny and Hermione.

For reasons that were still beyond him, Harry settled for a casual "Hi."

Ron forced a smile and nodded in greeting. Harry still couldn't quite understand why Ron was so suspicious about her.

"If it's inconvenient now, Hagrid, we could come back later…" Hermione began.

"Yeah, we wouldn't mind, really," said Harry almost at the same time.

"No. No way," Professor Ravon said. "You stay. Right, Hagrid?"

"Well…"

"I need to leave anyway," she said, giving Fang another pat on his head. "Get off me, Fang… That's it. It was nice, Hagrid. Thank you. I hope we'll repeat this often."

"Sure. 'S jus' like ol' times," Hagrid answered.

Professor Ravon got up, nodded at the half giant, and turned to leave. As she went to walk past the students, she said, "I hope you've finished your homework first." She winked. After all, the Defence Against the Dark Arts essay was to be handed in the following day.

Everyone nodded.

"Good. Then I'll be seeing you in good spirits. Bye, everyone." She put on her cloak. "See you at dinner, Hagrid."

She smiled at him one more time and then closed the door behind her.

"We could have dropped in another day instead, Hagrid," said Ron.

"'S alright, really," Hagrid said. "Cup o' tea, anyone? Sit down, will yeh?"

"D'you know her well, Hagrid?" Harry asked after a while when everyone had a cup of tea and a plate with cookies was set before them. Of course, everyone present had learnt by then that it was better not to eat anything solid Hagrid offered. It was simply too solid. Like rock.

"Who?" he asked back, chewing on a cookie.

"Professor Ravon."

"Sariss? O' course. 'S bin not tha' long a time tha' she was a student herself. An' now look at her. Teachin' jus' like meself. Grown up, me li'l one."

"What was she like?" Ginny asked.

"Well, lonely, even when her bes' friends were with her. But funny. Has a great sense o' humour, really," he said. "But she scares yeh, don' she?"

Ron looked uncomfortable. "Um…"

"Only a bit," said Harry.

"Always had tha' problem," Hagrid explained. "Would've scared me too if Fang hadn' adored her from the firs' day on. Animals are cleverer than mos' people sometimes. Well, if they're given a chance. She had a small problem with ol' Professor Kettleburn's lessons. Got suspended 'cause some creatures got nervous. Hit her hard."

"You tell me," Ron muttered. "When she looks at you, it's as if… I don't know if there's something that feels remotely like it."

"I know what you mean," said Ginny, and Hermione nodded her agreement. "But I think you'll get used to that feeling soon. It's not that she'd have given anyone the impression that she'd rip their heads off, right? Well, perhaps that's not quite right. Rumour has it that she almost ripped someone's head off," she muttered thoughtfully. "Not that it would bother any of us."

"What? Who? Why?" came from the others.

"Haven't you heard?"

"What?" Harry asked.

"The rumour goes that Professor Ravon and Snape had quite a row. Only a rumour, mind you. Some Slytherin first-year supposedly heard them quarrelling in the dungeons when he or she had got lost down there on their way to dinner and was late. He or she overheard them."

"That explains why Snape's been so grumpy recently," Ron said.

"Not that that would be something new," Hermione said.

"Sariss had a row with Snape?" Hagrid repeated. "Wonder why she hasn' told me… But yer right. Snape's bin 'specially grumpy the past days. Almos' thought You Know Who was up ter somethin'—but yeh shouldn' know tha'."

"But we do, Hagrid," Harry said. "And if the Dark Mark is as much of a nuisance as my scar is…"

"'S even more than tha'," said Hagrid. "But don' let's talk about tha' no more." Fang gave a bark as though he whole-heartedly agreed with him. "How's yer summer, Harry? The Dursleys bin not too horrible, I hope?"

"Now that's something, I'd rather not talk about," said Harry. "And the list seems to get longer every passing day."

"I know," Hagrid sighed. "Poor Josie. Could've flown with the Wimbourne Wasps after her graduation. Looked good on her broomstick…" He trailed off and sniffed.

"Looks like we can't even talk about Quidditch anymore without mentioning You-Know-Who at some point or other," said Hermione.

"Well," Ginny began slowly, apparently looking for a safe topic—and finding it. "What do you have in store for us this year, Hagrid? A Manticore?"

Hagrid chuckled. "Yeh don' think I'd bring such a dangerous creature here, do yeh?"

The four students gave him looks that expressed everything.

"Oh, well, guess yeh do… But honestly, I've bin pullin' some strings fer a few weeks already ter be able ter show yeh a very rare beast. Not too dangerous if yeh know how ter treat it. I can hardly wait ter see yer faces."

"I've just discovered that I'm quite the patient one. I'm not so keen on seeing the thing," Ron muttered to Harry. "Let's just hope it's not Aragog."

**Next chapter:**

A Hogsmeade weekend. Sariss has a little chat with Hagrid over a Butterbeer and remembers the good old times while giving Snape the silent treatment. And Snape prowls around the castle, stumbling upon a certain mirror, and accompanies Dumbledore to his office for a little chitchat.


	7. Wanted

**Author's note: **Big thanks go to Charlsie and Blaise, my most loyal reviewer and soul-sister. I hope you'll like this fairly long chapter just as much as I like it myself. I just _love_ Severus when he's annoyed…

Chapter 6: Wanted

**_Don't you know this tale  
In which all I ever wanted  
I'll never have_**

_—Nightwish: Beauty & the Beast_

A week later, it was a Hogsmeade weekend and the sun was shining so brightly and warmly that one was almost reminded of summer. Sariss sauntered along the Main Street, a bag of Honeydukes chocolate in her hand. She had cast a Cooling Charm on it. It would have been a pity if the chocolate melted. It just wasn't the same afterwards.

The street was filled with Hogwarts students who hurried here and there. Even if she didn't know all those children, she could have told the third years from the others. Their eyes were large with amazement and their bags were even larger. Filch would have one hell of a time confiscating those things—if he ever got hold of them. Sariss chuckled. Even years ago it had been so. If you were careful and looked as if you couldn't swat a fly you got your stuff into the castle, no matter if it was on top of Filch's list or not. Fact was that after you'd pulled your prank, you could be sure that it was right on top.

Sariss went to the Three Broomsticks where some of the seventh-year Gryffindors were apparently celebrating a small birthday party at their table. They finished their song shortly after Sariss had entered the pub. The bushy-haired girl that was Hermione Granger blushed but grinned broadly.

**There's Hagrid!**

The half-giant occupied a table near the celebrating students. A huge steaming mug stood in front of him. When he saw her, he lifted a large hand and waved at Sariss, gesturing for her to join him and shouting for Madam Rosmerta to bring another—although much smaller—mug of Butterbeer.

"Thank you, Hagrid," Sariss said, as she sat down at Hagrid's table. The innkeeper brought the Butterbeer within a matter of moments. "Mmm. This is nice."

"Thought yeh'd like it," said Hagrid. "My, have yeh grown up, li'l girl. An' such a pretty lass yeh've become."

"You say that all the time… Thanks, Hagrid," Sariss said sheepishly. "How are your lessons? Going well?" The question was unnecessary, as a broad smile spread across Hagrid's hairy face.

"All I ever wanted. Great man, Dumbledore," he replied. "How's yer teachin' goin'?"

"Oh, it's still alright. Easier than I thought. I think I like it. Glad I came here, really."

"An' there's nothin' ter complain abou'?"

"What do you mean?"

"Heard yeh had quite a row with Professor Snape—."

"Oh, please, Hagrid. I don't want to talk about it."

"Why not? Since when don' yeh wanna let ol' Hagrid in on what's botherin' yeh?"

"I'm… Hagrid, it's… It was an accident."

"How can a row be an accident?"

"It was… I don't know how it came about. It just happened. I didn't want it to happen. And not that way."

"How then?"

"Not at all. You saw him at the feast. He loathes me."

"Don' take it personal. Professor Snape doesn' like mos' people."

"I'm not talking about _liking_. I'm not asking for him to _like_ me. I just want to be treated like another teacher and not like a disobedient student."

"Perhaps yeh should tell 'im tha'?" Hagrid suggested.

"That was actually part of the row we had," Sariss said hesitantly. "A small part of it, but I think I brought it to his attention quite clearly. Besides, even if I hadn't, I wouldn't point it out to him now."

"Why's tha'?"

"I'm not talking to him. Much more than that, actually. I'm ignoring him completely—."

"Still mad at him? How long's it bin?"

"Two weeks and counting," Sariss said. "And I'm still fuming that he doesn't even seem to care that to me he's not much more than solid air that has to be steered around."

"Well, if yeh wanna hurt Snape, yeh've got another think comin'."

"I don't want to hurt anyone," Sariss said softly. "He's hurting me. He could at least notice that. Insensitive git. I'm just giving him what he deserves for first making me freak out and then making me feel miserable."

"I don' get it. Yeh never had problems with him when yeh were li'l."

"Dumbledore warned me before I came here. It was just I hadn't expected Snape to be so… cold. Most of the time, I can't even sense what he feels, that he feels anything at all. And if I catch a glimpse, I merely sense something like anger. But mostly it's as if he weren't even there. Unlike you and your huge golden heart. You're present to me; he isn't," Sariss shrugged, unable to explain it more clearly, and sipped some Butterbeer. "Mmm. I sure like Butterbeer." The subject of Snape was closed. She only hoped Hagrid got it.

With some effort, Madam Rosmerta brought him another mug. It looked more like a bucket to Sariss but was just the right size for Hagrid's gigantic hands. "There—you—are, Hagrid. Care for another bottle of Butterbeer, Miss Ravon?"

"You remember me?"

"'Course, I do. The amounts of Butterbeer you always took up to the castle…"

Sariss smirked and shrugged. "Well, yes, I could use another one."

"Thanks, Rosi," said Hagrid and with glittering and clicking heels Madam Rosmerta was on her way.

"Bin a long time since yeh've bin here last, ain't it?" Hagrid asked after he'd had a large sip of the content of his mug.

"Yeah, a very long time…" Sariss felt her face fall. "And I won't ever be in the same company again…"

**~*~**

_"You go on inside. Order a Butterbeer for me," Sariss said. "I'll be with you in a couple of minutes."_

_"Why?" Aurora asked. "Where are you going?"_

_"Yeah," said Rick. "We'll accompany you if you—."_

_"Not necessary, thanks. I'm a big girl. And there are some things a girl has to buy on her own. I'll just grab a few things and I'll be with you before you can even say, 'Where the heck is she?'"_

_"Well, if you're sure…"_

_"I am."_

_"Just watch out for Malfoy, will you?" Aurora said._

_"I will, Rory. See you in a few minutes. I'll hurry. Wouldn't want my Butterbeer to grow cold, would I?"_

_And she hurried indeed. It took her merely a bit longer than_ _five minutes to get everything she wanted, since she'd spied everything out when she'd passed the shopping windows with Rick and Rory by her side. Thus, she merely had to get inside and buy the things she wanted. First, she went into Gladrags to get herself some new underwear (only imagining Rick's expression if Rory and Sariss had dragged him there to buy what Sariss had bought made her shudder); then it was into Talismans and Trinkets, a shop that sold exactly what its name implied._

_Sariss went out with her purse considerably lighter and her heart bursting with excitement about what her friends would say to what she'd bought._

_She headed in direction of the Three Broomsticks and went inside. Rick and Rory were already sitting at a table at the far wall. Madam Rosmerta was just serving them the Butterbeer. They waved when Sariss came towards them._

_"What did you get?" Rick asked curiously, when Sariss joined her two friends at the table. "Other than pounds of chocolate, I mean."_

_Sariss wrinkled her nose at him. "It's not that I'd eat it all now, is it?"_

_"Good thing, too," said Aurora. "We'd have to roll you up the way to the castle if you did. What's in that little bag there?"_

_"A box." _

_"I can see that," Rick said, only to be nudged in the ribs by Aurora._

_Sariss pulled it out of its container. "Got it from Talismans and Trinkets. Early Christmas presents. Well, sort of."_

_"What is it?" Rick reached for the box, only to get his hand slapped away by Aurora. "Ouch! Rory, what did you do that for?"_

_"Really, it's okay. I want to give them to you as soon as they're done. I've got to do some… adjustments first."_

_"See? She wants us to see them," Rick said triumphantly, nudging Rory in the ribs._

_"Hey! Stop that!"_

_"Children," Sariss scolded their good-natured bickering, "may I have a bit of your attention?"_

_"'Course, Mum. It's just that Rory keeps annoying me," Rick mock-whined and pouted._

_Sariss rolled her eyes, whereas Aurora tsked._

_Then she opened the box to reveal a set of three delicate silver necklaces and a full-moon-shaped pendant, also silver._

_"Why three chains?" Rick asked._

_"I have done some thinking," Sariss explained. "And I want the two of you to know that you're the best friends I ever had—."_

_"No, no, no. __You're not thinking you have to give us something in exchange for our friendship, do you?"_

_"I just want you to know that the two of you mean very much to me. Without you, I wouldn't be who I am. And that's why there are three chains. One for each of us."_

_"I almost thought so," Aurora drawled lazily._

_"Shut it," Sariss said quickly but smiled. "That's where the pendant comes into the play. I intend to split it in three parts. One for each of us. Two half moons—one slightly larger than the other one—and a smaller-than-it-is-now full moon."_

_"I'll take the full moon!" Rick exclaimed. "Ouch!" Aurora had nudged him in the ribs again. She did that a lot. "Hey! What do you think you're doing?"_

_"You do take everything you're offered, don't you?" she said reprovingly. "You greedy—."_

_"Of course, lest someone else gets it," Rick grinned._

_"Rory, Rick, please. It's okay. They're yours anyway. It's not as though I couldn't afford it. Money's worth nothing when you can't make someone happy… And it's more of a symbol anyway—but that doesn't mean that it can't be pretty, does it?" Sariss mused. "Anyway, it's a symbol for the three of us. Individuals who form something greater. Is a half moon okay with you, Rory?"_

_"Er… sure," she said a bit sheepishly._

_"Great! I'll ask Professor Dumbledore if he helps me with the splitting part of the moon as soon as he's got a little time for—"_

_"Sariss, you've definitely spent too much time in the library. Have you read every single spell and Muggle fantasy book that you had to switch to philosophy now? Note to self: Keep Sariss occupied with other things than library." Rick nodded determinedly._

_"I'm not that bad." Sariss giggled softly._

_"Last week we had to literally drag you out of there. The O.W.Ls are ages away! I don't even want to imagine what you're going to do as soon as the N.E.W.Ts are coming up."_

_"It's only five months!"_

_"As if you were studying all the time," Rory muttered. "Little hypocrite! You read novels instead of spellbooks. I saw it."_

_"And the week before, Madam Pince almost threw you out because she wanted to close the library."_

_"But the book was good!"_

_"You could have read it in the common room."_

_"But the library is such a peaceful place. So quiet. And some time after dinner, it's almost empty. I like it best that way and you know…" Sariss trailed off. She sensed something. There was…_

_"What?"_

_"Oh no," Sariss mouthed._

_"Now look at that! Where do we have to go so we don't have to see that shame for Slytherin House?"_

_"Go away, Malfoy. Stop stalking me," said Sariss, busying herself with her Butterbeer. Unfortunately, the mug was empty already. If only he'd go quickly and take Rosier and Wilkes with him. It seemed he went nowhere without them on either side of him, almost like it was with Sariss, Rick and Rory. As if that weren't enough already, there came Susan and Chloe into the pub. Great. Now all people who could make her really freak out were assembled._

_"Malfoy, really, do you prefer spending your valuable time," Chloe's voice was sickeningly sweet, "with those losers instead of your equals? I always thought you could do better than following Raving Ravon everywhere she goes."_

_"Suitable nickname, really," Sariss muttered, trying to sound casual even though she had to dig her nails into the palms of her hands to manage that. "Malicious Malfoy and Choleric Chloe, that should get on like a house on fire. Now that we established that, would you mind if I asked you to stop pestering me?"_

_"I'd like to sit at that table," said Susan. "You may leave, threesome. This is no place for people who hang out with Mudbloods."_

_"I'm not!"_

_"You don't know that. And as you can't prove the opposite…" Susan continued. "Anyway, we just have to look at you to know that your blood is polluted by magicless folk."_

_"You evil—! You vile… _person_!"_

_"Honestly," Aurora cut in. "Have you run out of Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs?"_

_"But it's so much more fun that way," sneered Malfoy. "They're not much of a challenge. You are."_

_"I take it that this is not meant as a compliment," Sariss hissed._

_"It's a miracle you haven't gone up in flames already, Ravon," Malfoy said casually. "The sun's shining much too brightly—even for my taste."_

_Oh, great, now they were starting on the vampire thing again. They just loved to do that. Sariss could almost see herself as Carrie—Rick had made her and Rory watch that Muggle movie the previous summer holidays when Sariss and Aurora had been staying at the Allens' for a few days. (Rick's mother was a Muggle-born witch, which explained why he knew so many things about Muggles and the way they lived.) Anyway, they'd watched the movie together. It had been appalling. But on the other hand, Sariss had found herself intrigued. It had terrified her that she had been thinking at one point, '_Well, I could do that much better…_' That she had only had a thought like that! Sariss knew she could do it for real. She wouldn't even need special prompting. She could do what the girl in the movie had done right at the spot. Even at this very moment. She could kill and destroy everyone…_

_If only she had the guts to run amok. Sometimes she wished she could do that. But there was only one life she'd always seriously wanted to take. And he was still around. Somewhere. Waiting…_

_"Oh, and by the way, I always wondered where you keep your coffin—"_

_"Or, for that matter, your sample of soil from your native country. Care to fill someone in on it?"_

_"I had no idea they sell blood in here…"_

_How she despised them for saying those things! If only she were a vampire. Merely a vampire. Her life would be easy if she'd been born a vampire. Well, easier than it had become…_

_"Leave us alone," said Rick. "I always knew you were myopic. There's a table right over there, awaiting your presence which is rather wearing on me at the moment."_

_"We were what?"_

_"Myopic," Rick repeated. "If you want to know what it means you'll have to ask Sariss here. She's my personal encyclopaedia_ _and can explain it much better than I."_

_Sariss meanwhile had to clench her teeth together; her whole body felt tense; every single hair stood on end; her skin prickled. If they didn't leave soon, she'd lose control and something would break; someone would be hurt… Sariss screwed her eyes shut, trying to concentrate on something nice and peaceful, trying to block out the viciousness that was all-encompassing… It weren't Malfoy's words that stung. She didn't even listen anymore. It were the feelings emanating from him. They went like fists into her stomach._

_"I can, too," said Rory, apparently having noticed that Sariss was in no state to talk right now. "Narrow-minded, intolerant, idiotic, stupid, prejudiced, self-centred… Have I forgotten something, huh, Sariss?"_

_"Let me handle this," Sariss heard Rick say. "Now what was that spell Flitwick taught us last lesson?"_

_"You mean the Tarantallegra spell?"_

_"No, that's an old one—but good idea. Anyway, I meant the one that makes leeks sprout out of your ears."_

_"I believe that one only works with someone who's got a brain for the leeks to hold on to."_

_"No better opportunity than to test that now, isn't it? What were the words again…"_

_"Sariss," whispered Aurora, "come on, snap out of it. Breathe."_

_Sariss hadn't even realized that she'd forgotten to breathe as she'd been much too occupied with trying to be somewhere else._

_"Sariss, come on…"_

_"Rory…" Sariss began softly, horrified as she felt the surge of magic rush out of her, seeking… looking for a target… "Put down that mug," she whispered breathlessly, trembling, desperately trying to prevent the by now unstoppable from happening. "Put down that mug. Put down…"_

_Aurora set it down on the table extremely quickly. It wasn't the first time that they had this problem. She knew what would be happening in a matter of moments…_

_The Butterbeer inside began to boil violently, making the mug dance over the table, and then it flowed over, splashing onto the surface of the table, still bubbling and steaming. It would have burnt Rory's hands if she'd still been holding it. Thank the gods that she had so good reflexes._

_Sariss buried her face in her hands trying to get a grip on herself._

_"The show's over," said Rick, who—if Sariss had perceived correctly—had been fighting a verbal duel in the meantime. If it had also involved a curse or two, Sariss hadn't noticed. She took deep breaths, slowly regaining a certain calmness._

_"She's a freak," said Chloe's hard voice._

_"Drop dead, Lestrange," snarled Rory, who kept patting Sariss's shoulder and rubbing her back. _

_"Make them leave," Sariss kept muttering barely audibly._

_"You want to be in that mug's place?" said Rory. "Your wish could be granted if you stay here for much longer."_

_"She's a freak," said Chloe._

_"We heard you the first time," said Rick. Sariss could hear him sit back down. The other Slytherins retreated into the far corner, and Sariss felt enmity, loathing, fear and the like seep out of her, leaving her with Aurora and Rick's friendship and concern and her own tremendous relief that it had only been a pint of Butterbeer._

_"Better?" asked Aurora._

_"Yes," breathed Sariss, looking up. "Listen, sorry for that. It's… I'll—I'll… I'll buy you a new Butterbeer." She felt she sounded shaky._

_"It's not important. It's only a sticky liquid after all. Tastes good but not much more." Aurora shrugged. "But if I were you I'd jump up and give them a few boils to worry about. Your hexes can't be countered so easily. And you'd have a very good excuse."_

_"Yeah, I'd have loved to hex them into oblivion," said Rick. "And you don't even need a wand to do that. You just have to lose it. The best of all excuses."_

_"Rick, I can't do that."_

_"But they're never going to stop if you don't defend yourself."_

_"I can't. I could hurt them. I could hurt them badly. But, you see, the thing is I want to hurt them. I'd love to. I'd enjoy it. But I mustn't. I don't think I could stop once I'd started. It mustn't happen. Not even accidentally. You saw it. I mustn't lose control. I can't fight back. I mustn't," Sariss rambled on and on._

_"I don't think they know what they're doing to you," Rick said softly, cautiously patting Sariss's icy hand that was still balled into a fist. "If they knew—."_

_"They know it," muttered Aurora, "and they like it."_

_"Yeah, I seem to make Malfoy's days."_

_"He's been a bastard since the day you met. And ever since, you've been too calm."_

_"Maybe he wants you to fight back? Ever thought of that?" said Aurora._

_"Sure he does. He wants to get me expelled."_

_"But you do take it much too calmly," said Rick. "You should at least give him some boils to worry about."_

_"I assure you, I'm am not taking it calmly at all. I just don't let it out—well, I try. But, you see, the thing is, at a certain point, I can't think of something to say, because I have to concentrate on not losing it, and then they get the upper hand. And when they do that, they get vicious and then I lose it. That about sums it up, doesn't it?"_

_"Be that as it may," Rick continued. "They only pick on you because you're an easy victim for them. Do you want them to bully you around for another two years?"_

_He might as well have said, 'You chose to be the attacked instead of the attacker, the prey instead of the predator. How long do you want to keep that up?'_

_"Yeah. If you didn't have us to stand up for you—."_

_"For which I'm eternally grateful, guys," Sariss interrupted her best friends._

_The two of them blushed and shrugged. Apparently, the subject was closed. "Let's have another Butterbeer," Aurora said and waved to Madam Rosmerta who bustled over to the table the three friends were sitting at, a smile on her face and three mugs of Butterbeer on a tray in her hands._

_"You look like you could use another round," she smiled._

_"Oh yes. You know, I could drown in it. It's the best thing I've ever tried, even better than chocolate. It's so warm and… I don't know… does it make any sense when I say that it's kind of comforting, like bottled happiness?"_

_"Um… if you say so… in a certain respect…" Rick said, taking the Butterbeers from the tray Madam Rosmerta had put down on the table and handing them to the girls. _

_"Here you are, my dears," the innkeeper said._

_"Thank you, Madam Rosmerta," the three of them replied, and Madam Rosmerta took the empty mugs away and went to take care of another couple of customers. _

_Sariss took a sip. "Mmm… I feel better already."_

_"Sariss. Sometimes you're really strange…" Aurora muttered._

_"I know," Sariss sighed and sipped some more Butterbeer. "That's part of my charm," she added with a wry smile. "Raving Ravon. That would be me now."_

_The other two snorted into their Butterbeers._

_"What did I say? It wasn't that funny."_

_"But it was."_

_"In a way…"_

_"You two are so annoying. Sometimes I believe you must be twins. Such a strange sense of humour…"_

_"That's part of our charm," they said in perfect unison._

_And this time it was Sariss who shouldn't have raised her mug to drink, since it was her turn to snort into her Butterbeer._

_She grinned sheepishly at them and said, "See? I told you."_

_It was as if they'd never been disturbed by Malfoy and the others…_

**~*~**

"Sariss?… Li'l one?… Professor?"

Sariss snapped out of it. "What is it, Hagrid?"

"I bin wonderin' if yeh'd like ter pay the unicorns a visit," he said. 

"I'd love to—I'm sorry, Hagrid. I don't think that would be such a good idea. I don't do so well with animals—or rather, most of them don't do so well with me."

"Worth a try, ain't it? Yeh never tried yer luck with 'em. _They_ just might like yeh."

"Unlike the Hippogriff, you mean?"

"I remember. Ol' Professor Kettleburn had a field day with yeh when the Hippogriff took flight an' refused ter come down to the groun' till yeh were gone."

"It had one good thing as a result."

"That would've bin?"

"I was able to spend the free time with you and Fang—although it's a pity I never got near Kettleburn's creatures again."

"Well, Fang liked yeh immediately. Why shouln' some other beasts too?"

Sariss smirked. "Guess I could try my luck one day or other, huh? Worst thing that could happen would be for you to have to catch them again, right?"

"Don' yeh make tha' face. Unicorns are cleverer than mos' people think. I bet they like bein' cuddled by a pretty lass such as yeh."

"They're supposed to like women better than men—"

"They really do."

"Well, looks like a point for me then. I'll come back to your offer soon. But you've got to stay with me. We wouldn't want them to panic and get hurt. I don't think I could take something like that."

"They won't panic."

"What makes you so sure?"

"Yeh've one thing in common with 'em. They like Malfoys no more than yeh do," Hagrid said brightly. "That should count fer somethin', right?"

"That's a comfort," Sariss muttered wryly.

**~*~*~**

When almost everyone who was allowed to visit Hogsmeade was there having a good time, drinking Butterbeer, refilling their stocks of Honeydukes' chocolate and Zonko's jokes, Severus Snape was prowling around the school, along the corridors, up and down every single one of the one-hundred-and-forty-two staircases, through doorways he'd never even laid eyes upon (which was strange, considering the fact that he had hardly left Hogwarts for more than a few hours in almost two decades…), thinking and pondering about… well, life, the universe, and everything… 

Still thinking about the highly unpleasant argument he'd had with Miss Ravon. The way she'd countered, stood up against him… She had developed a pretty fiery temper…

He'd been thinking about her in that manner for days by now…

He hadn't spoken to her since term had started (save perhaps 'Good morning' and 'Good day')—and when he'd wanted to talk to her, simply ask her to cease undermining his authority the way she did (and she had! He had to keep reminding himself of that…) both their tempers had prevented a calm discussion. She had made him freak out so easily, and he was exactly the man to react to this in the way he had: with a bit of sarcasm and a glare. Had they been children, it would have ended in a physical fight and not stayed a verbal one. 

As a consequence of all of this, they had been avoiding each other during the days following the fight and ignoring each other when an encounter couldn't be avoided such as at mealtimes and in the staff room. Indeed, it had happened more than once that she had left as soon as he'd entered the room. Wordlessly. Without even throwing an angry glance at him. Nothing at all. 

Her recent behaviour had awarded him with many a raised eyebrow or curious glance from his dearest colleagues.

And as much as she ignored him… well, it seemed that by doing so, he paid more attention to what she did, how she looked, how she moved, how melodic her voice seemed to sound all of a sudden when she spoke to everyone but him, or how she smiled—this, too, at anyone but him… He paid more attention to her than before, waiting for something… a look, a glance, a word. This silence irritated him in a way. Had he gotten so used to hearing her say 'Good day' or 'Good evening' or something like that?

Impossible. She had been at Hogwarts for only a few days as of yet.

But she was most irritating.

Even more so, since he'd been expecting an apology from her. And that very soon.

Instead, there was only silence…

And it was this utter silence that he found most irritating. He didn't want to be ignored! Not even by her! Least of all by her, when there should be such tension between them. They had had an argument. Fine! But such things needed to be sorted out sooner or later, didn't they? Strange that a thought like this should roam through his mind. But it was fact: Severus didn't want to be ignored. Despised, yes. Yelled at, yes. Hated, maybe. But ignored? That went against everything he regarded himself as. And to be ignored after such a display… Well, he thought the least he deserved was an apology from her. A single word would do. Not that it ever slipped over Severus's lips without him being forced to do so.

Nonetheless, he wanted the status quo to change. If she kept up ignoring him, Severus would start doubting his own existence. No one could keep up ignoring someone else remotely as long as she dreaded to…

Where had his couldn't-care-less-attitude disappeared to?

Why was it that she simply refused to leave his mind? Why was he constantly thinking about her? About the way her lips had curled, her full, cherry-red lips… the way her eyes had blazed in her fury, staring back into his so defiantly, without so much as a blink? No one had ever dared to even try to do that, let alone succeeded… He couldn't deny that he was impressed. Very. It sounded no longer ridiculous that she could stare many a Death Eater down with her mere gaze…

They were of a light green, those eyes. He had never noticed that before, which was strange. Her pupils had been dilated with anger. Large and black they had been. The green only a narrow circle, framed by another thin circle of dark grey. They'd been blazing like green fire. Like Absinthe, the green fairy. Amazing… One could get drunk on those eyes.

As a matter of fact, he'd begun to see those eyes when he closed his. And it annoyed him to no end that she was there too! 

To him, she was everywhere all of a sudden! And to her, he didn't even exist, or so she made it seem—and was very convincing.

Again: Severus couldn't stand being ignored. If anyone was to ignore anyone else, it was Severus who would ignore her! And not vice versa! But how could he even start as long as _she_ kept it up?

She was being stubborn and annoying and… cruel? Where had that expression come from? Why would he regard the way she treated him as cruel? She meant nothing to him, did she? She was merely a girl, for heaven's sake! Since when had he developed a taste for little girls? (And what kind of thought was that, that it crept so unbidden into his mind?) And why would he regard her attitude towards him as _cruel_?

'Why does self-loathing become cruelty?' she'd asked—or something fairly similar. He couldn't remember her exact words. But that was practically what she'd said. 

**Quite a philosopher, that one, isn't she? **

_Well…_

**And that when I remember clearly that you told me you thought she didn't think properly?**

_My opinion on _that_ matter hasn't changed._

**Then I take it that it has changed on certain other matters instead?**

_I have no idea what you're talking about. She's a naïve and—._

**Wait a moment! ****Your thoughts of a few minutes ago were quite the opposite. Would you mind sticking to one train of thought at least for more than a couple of moments?**

_What I wanted to say—before you interrupted me—is that she's still a silly girl, no matter how many wise things she may have heard somewhere she throws at me. She'll always be a silly little—._

**Well, if you really think so…**

Did he really think so? Well, from an unbiased point of view, she had never been exactly silly. On the contrary. Although she had been a little girl—and… well… at second thought, she wasn't exactly little either anymore…

Strange. Now that he tried to remember the little girl, he seemed unable to recall her image. If he strained his mind, a faint ghostly shadow appeared before his mind's eye, but it was almost instantly overlapped by a picture of the woman Sariss whose eyes had blazed so…—Miss Ravon, that is, whose eyes had been glowing with anger.

**A big oops there, right?**

_A slip of the mind, so to speak._

When she had rushed out of his office, her extremely long hair had fanned out behind her, those few long tresses that she always wore loose, flying and brushing him. Beauty hair. He suddenly wished he had paid more attention to that little sensation. It must feel awfully soft. If only he could take a strand of it in his hands and determine if it was really as soft as that faint touch suggested… How he'd love to—.

Severus shook himself. Where did those thoughts come from now?

He didn't want to have those thoughts! He didn't need them! In fact, he could think of a thousand things that he'd rather think about than anything connected with her!

But one thing he couldn't deny. Somehow, the more he thought about her… Somehow, in a way that he could not quite fathom, he suddenly found her incredibly—.

Severus snapped out of his thoughts as he found himself in another chamber he had never been in before. Perhaps it hadn't been there before when he had walked into that direction? 

A large, gloomy chamber it was. 

And somewhere in the depth of this room, there was a faint glowing. His curiosity got the upper hand. He stepped forward and headed in direction of the light, his eyes trying to penetrate the darkness that surrounded him otherwise. 

The glowing emanated from a magnificent mirror, as high as the ceiling, with an ornate gold frame, standing on two clawed feet. A familiar inscription was carved around the top. It read: Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi. 

_I show not your face but your heart's desire_.

Severus knew this mirror very well. It had been a long time since he had last looked at it—and he didn't want to see the image again that had presented itself to him. An image that couldn't have been any farther from truth and mere likelihood if a writer had thought it out.

He didn't want to see it. He shouldn't even ponder about it.

Or—should he? Just a glance? A single glance?

He stepped forward, slowly and cautiously, until he stood in front of the mirror. All the time he'd kept his eyes firmly on the floor. Now he raised them and looked into the mirror.

He felt the little colour he had drain from his face at the sight he beheld. What he saw was—too put it mildly—surprising. This was not what he had expected, not what he had seen all this time ago—although it was just as unlikely to come true. He hadn't been prepared to see _this_. He hadn't even had the slightest idea that _this_ could ever be his heart's desire… This was ridiculous—yet… 

She was so… 

**Different?**

He couldn't deny this. And she was also…

**Temperamental?**

_Out of the question. _

**And she's pretty when she's mad at you, right?**

_Well… All right, she is pretty, too._

**I've been trying to tell you she's a beauty. But you had to nip everything in the bud—what do I say?—you had to crush the seedling.**

It was strange. Now that he saw her in the mirror, he was suddenly almost painfully aware of every detail about her. Had he not looked at her before? It was as though a veil had been ripped from before his eyes, like a light had snapped on inside him. He had seen her every day, hadn't he? Had he never really wasted more than an 'Alright, pretty she might be, but she's an annoying girl'-thought to her? He felt incredibly stupid all of a sudden. Had all of this been lurking in the back of his mind all the time? He couldn't tell. He was in a state of shock as he stood there, frozen.

**Can't bear to see the truth thrown at you, can you?**

He managed to tear his eyes away. He felt he shouldn't see this. It brought back too many sad memories and thoughts of what might have been, and stirred awake the demon of wishes and wants that he had thought he had put to sleep for all eternity. He wouldn't start longing again. He wouldn't fall in love; he knew he was on the verge of it. He remembered what it had felt like… 

But not again. Not with someone like her. Least of all with someone like her. And even less than that, with _her_! 

Was that the reason why he had reacted the way he had? Had his subconscious tricked him into being mean for the sole reason that it didn't want to be rejected again?

Perhaps it wasn't too late to renew the vow he'd made a long time ago. Never fall in love again. It can only lead to pain and loss. Severus knew perfectly well that he was not the kind of man a woman like this would ever fall for. He didn't have any illusions about that. He knew himself too well for that…

And he knew women like _her_ all too well, didn't he?

That he only dared to think what he thought now clearly confirmed what Dumbledore had once warned him about. The Mirror showed you what you—deep, _very_ deep inside—desperately wanted—as if Severus could already believe that _this_ was it! 

But was it really that absurd that she was what his heart desired? Was she whom Severus desired?

'Men have wasted away gazing at it, watching what they wanted but might not get…'

_Might not get? No, in my case it's certain, _Severus thought cynically_._

Until the moment it had been thrown into his face, he would have denied it; he denied it even now although he knew that the Mirror did not lie… And yet, she wouldn't leave his mind.

She was like migraine. He wanted her to go away, to stop bombarding him with who and what he was. He wanted her to stop making him feel as if he had been weighed, measured and found wanting.

"Get out of my head," he whispered. "Get out of my sight."

The Mirror. It was cruel. The image didn't fade. It was as persistent as the thought of her was in his mind. She was still there. Her arms were still around his neck. Her lips were still lingering on that of the mirror-Snape.

Like perfume, into Severus's mind crept the unbidden thought of what that must be feeling like…

No. He'd look away from that disturbing image. 

He had perceived a delicate scent of strawberry and vanilla around her when she'd swished past him. Indeed, she always smelt faintly of strawberry, didn't she? Or was his memory deceiving him on account of the image of a tender and lingering kiss?

He'd never look at it again. 

What would her lips taste like? Certainly intoxicatingly sweet and succulent. How he envied the other Severus Snape, his reflection, that possessed a life of its own and dared to show what might have been if it hadn't been for the real Severus to mess up his whole life from the beginning till, presumably, the end. The reflection shamelessly dared to brush its lips over hers and entwine its fingers in the softness of her hair. And she kissed it back with such abandon, pressing herself against it, the long and wide sleeves of her robe slipping back to reveal her slender white arms, which she still had around its shoulders, caressing its neck, drawing him ever closer towards her…

Severus experienced an eerie mixture of unabashed fury and utter longing. 

**In general, something like that might very well be called 'Jealousy'…**

But the real Snape had to suffer the consequences of everything that had started decades ago—things that he had started. 

No, he wouldn't wallow in self-pity now. He refused to.

Some things were simply not to be. Period.

And what he saw in the Mirror definitely fell into that category. It was an illusion, the chimera of a troubled mind. An all too beautiful figment of imagination. Severus felt he might get lost in that vision if he stared at it for much longer—

"Severus, what a surprise to find you here."

Severus jumped, startled out of his thoughts, and turned around to face the intruder. "Headmaster," he whispered.

"Come with me, Severus. You look like you could do with a glass of nice old Brandy…"

The Potions master nodded and followed wordlessly. Was it possible that Dumbledore had seen what Severus had seen? Was it possible for another person to see what your heart's desire was when it was shown—supposedly—to your eyes only?

The analytical part of his mind said no. But with the headmaster you never knew…

Severus followed him all the way to his office, still a bit shaken, but recovering…

And an hour later, he was still sitting in Dumbledore's office, talking about important matters and ones that weren't of any significance at all. Simply put, it basically came down to this: The old man had managed to draw him into a conversation, a chat, in essence: small talk. 

It hadn't taken him long to gently but unmistakably steer the conversation into a direction that Severus was at first not pleased with. The topic of their conversation had become a very tender subject. 

She.

It was _she_. And that when he wanted to squeeze every bit of thought about her out of his tortured mind.

"She's driving me mad," Snape finally said to Dumbledore and meant it in more ways than the other man could ever have thought of. "In every way imaginable," he added and mused, "Why is that so? What's happened to this woman?" _And what's happening to me on account of her?_

"You mean, what happened to the shy small girl that was constantly trying to keep a low profile?"

"Well, yes! This woman is driving me mad!" Severus found himself quite comfortable with that phrase because it said everything in as few words as ever possible. She was driving him mad indeed, although not only in the way he would have said it some days ago anymore. But Dumbledore couldn't know the slight double-meaning that phrase had developed only a little time ago.

"Life happened to her—or rather reality. She never had much of a life. I don't think I have to remind you. And then, when she'd already lost her family at such a young age, she lost the few people who had become a second family to her."

"Yes, I saw the article in the _Daily Prophet_. When was it? Three months ago, four?" Severus mused, pouring himself another glass of Brandy, although he wasn't very fond of alcohol anymore. It drowned out pain, regrets and guilt but it also blurred his mind. That led to colossal hang-overs and even more misery. It did not do to drink alone.

Now _this_ Brandy… It was excellent. Even more so since he was drinking it in company, with Dumbledore.

"Yes, some time around then it must have been…" the headmaster sighed.

"I remember quite well. But you never told me why she has always been like… _this_. Where do all those… _talents_… that she has come from? I mean, sure I know what the Dark Lord did to her, but how did it work? Such a great amount of magical ability in a girl as small and frail as she was… It has been such a long time—and I'm still curious. It goes against me that I never found—."

"It's not your fault, Severus. None of us found a way." Dumbledore sighed. "But I would think it not fair towards her to tell anyone about my… _presumptions_… as to the real quantity of effects it possibly had when I haven't even told her. Even if the greater part of it consists of vague theories and suspicions, I fear she'll try to find out more again and slip back into her little obsession with the library. She's always reacted that way."

"I take it she never found anything?"

"Well, none of us did. But things like these tend to be found by accident. She might not like what might come to the light. She's too important to lose."

"You still haven't told her of any of your suspicions? Has she never asked you?"

"No to both of your questions. I haven't told her. And she did ask. Quite frequently. Sometimes in words, sometimes with a mere look."

"And you never—."

"No. No one. Well… The only person I had to let in is Minerva. She's deputy headmistress after all… Just in case that something should have happened to me. It still could. Dangerous times once again."

"And you didn't think it necessary to let _me_ in on the facts even though I was Sariss's Head of House when you told McGonagall?"

"That sounds almost as though you cared for _Professor_ _Ravon_…" the old man mused.

"Certainly not," Severus replied indignantly. He hadn't given himself away, had he?

"Is that so?" Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. 

**The man knows a lie when he hears one…**

"I don't know what you might be implying with—," the Potions master began, only to be interrupted by Dumbledore.

"You… like her, don't you?"

Severus stared at the old man, thunderstruck. "I beg your pardon?"

"Somewhere deep inside you, do you feel something for her?" the old man asked lightly. "Do you—perhaps—and forgive me for asking you so directly now—fancy her?" Severus couldn't bring his glare to its usual intensity. "Really, I could understand you quite well if you did."

"Headmaster, she has been your ward, and as far as I can tell you're still regarding her as your protégée—thus I don't think that this is a suitable topic for conversation. I feel as though I were talking to her father."

"Surely not," Dumbledore said. "But—forgive me for what I say now—it is quite obvious to me that you feel more than indifference towards her. Why else would she manage to drive you up the wall so easily? By merely ignoring you, that is."

This time, Severus managed to glare at the headmaster, who only smiled knowingly.

"I wonder how many people around here noticed that," Severus muttered and heaved I sigh. It was no use denying, was it? And even if he did, Dumbledore would know the unspoken. "If you tell anyone about this I'll deny we ever had this conversation," Snape said sharply.

"I understand. And what's your answer?" Dumbledore's smile hadn't so much as faltered. His face must be aching already.

"My answer!"

"I request an answer from you. Do you… want her to… _like_ you?" Maybe it was only Severus's imagination, but had Dumbledore's ever-present smile turned into a suggestive grin?

If he didn't know better, he would have thought that Dumbledore must have seen what he had seen in the Mirror… But that couldn't be, could it? It wasn't possible. One saw only what oneself wanted…

Severus groaned. Why did the old man always have to hear things spoken out loud that he already knew? It took Severus a while to find the appropriate words to only try and state something that could be remotely called an answer.

"Tell me, Severus, what do you think of her?" the headmaster prompted. "Really. Forget that she's a teacher here. Think of her as merely a visitor. A stranger even whom you've only just met. What impression does she make on you?"

Severus groaned again. He knew when he had lost a struggle of wills. And he hated it. But Dumbledore's eyes still twinkled. The expression on his face hadn't so much as faltered.

Should Snape grow suspicious? Was the old man trying to match him and Sariss—no!—him and _Miss Ravon _up? Dumbledore a matchmaker. The mere thought! Ridiculous!

**Is it?**

_Let's face the facts. Dumbledore would never do something like that. It's like one of those Muggle soap operas Lily was so fond of… Lily liked them…_

**Lily is dead! You haven't even seen her in the Mirror anymore! As if you'd ever seen her like this… You didn't even dare go this far in your mind.**

_No. I saw _her_ instead._

**Professor Ravon.**

_No, not Professor Ravon. _

**Excuse me! Who exactly was kissing your reflection with such abandon then?**

_Sariss._

"Have you ever really looked at her?" Severus asked not explicitly Dumbledore. "She's… I can't say those things. I feel so not like myself when it comes to her all of a sudden…"

"So she left not merely an impression but rather impacted on you? Figuratively, of course."

A grin escaped the Potions master as Dumbledore said this. But he sobered instantly. The discomfort that this man could read him so easily returned. "Well… coming from me, this… this may sound completely out of character…" he began hesitantly, desperately trying to find the right words to string his sentences together. 

Dumbledore nodded, prompting Severus to continue, which he did. 

"I myself only realized that a very short time ago," the Potions master confessed. "She's… I don't think there's really a word for it so I must use one that doesn't do justice to her at all… She's simply beautif—that word doesn't do her justice—she's not beautiful in any conventional way I can think of. She's extraordinary. She seems almost translucent, and yet there's a fire in her that only shows when she gets angry, I suppose…" Severus thought for a moment. "She's like a snowstorm in the middle of June. She's an oxymoron, a contradiction in terms."

Dumbledore nodded again. 

"And she's also," Severus again tried to find the right words to describe her with, "highly intelligent, eloquent, brilliant even when it comes to certain matters. She always caught on very quickly… But she lets herself be carried away so easily, and she's so stubborn, too. The way she fought when we were quarrelling. She wouldn't give an inch if her life depended on it."

Dumbledore smiled when Severus fell silent, but he didn't laugh at him, as Severus had feared. It was more a smile of agreement than anything else. "Stubborn, yes," the old man said. "That's exactly what I was thinking, too. I'm even tempted to call her a bit ruthless—and I mean it as a compliment. She's quite a handful. Fletcher's been here to see me recently because of some… _business_." Severus nodded. Business always meant underground work against Voldemort. Dangerous missions that, if successful, would result in a huge advantage over the Dark Side. "You know, they worked together for a few months before her life got messed up again."

"And?"

"Well, Sariss was never very vocal about her work. She always spoke about it in very abstract terms, if you know what I mean. She never wrote 'I did this' if she could avoid it. It was always 'We had to do this and that'. Fletcher's very sorry that she left. He was there when—"

"I know."

"Yes, well, what I'm trying to say is that he's known her just as long as you or me. I think he's always been somewhat like an older brother to her—a very much older brother." Dumbledore smirked. "Anyway, he tells me that my little girl has turned out to be one hell of an interrogator, too. Kept on praising her skills, how she got the most obdurate confined Death Eater to confess."

"You don't have to advertise, you know?"

"I'm just telling it like it is. If you think it's advertising…"

Severus rolled his eyes. "How?" he asked.

"Excuse me?"

"How did she get them to talk? That's what you wanted me to ask you, isn't it?"

"Her mere presence. He said she merely stood in the room watching the confined person. She always requested that there be only one other person present—there have to be more than just the interrogator to make sure no violence of any kind was used to get to the confession. Anyway, Fletcher was there numerous times. And the man—twenty years her elder!—tells me that he actually got frightened of her when she did nothing but stand there! Can you believe it?"

"Actually, I can imagine. When she loses it, it's quite startling. I can only imagine what it's like when she does it on purpose. If I could think clearly in her presence, I think I'd be frightened too."

Dumbledore chuckled. Severus, too, felt a smirk ache to be allowed to crawl onto his face.

"He describes this distinct crackling in the air, that we both know so well, don't we, Severus? And it occurred to me that she was doing the cleverest thing possible. She revealed her immense power, thus telling the person to be questioned that they had no chance to escape anymore—or rather their subconscious was tricked into believing that it was not entirely illogical for her to come swooping down on them and tear them apart with her bare hands. She had to do nothing else but be there and let her shields down for a few minutes to make them imagine their worst nightmares—or so Fletcher phrased it. I must admit I was quite impressed."

Severus stared. He'd never exactly seen her like this. He kept imagining now what being questioned by her would be like. He didn't like the thought. All of a sudden, he was very glad that some people he had at first not been comfortable with knowing he was acting as a spy knew of that fact and would clear him—hopefully—if he ever got arrested because of his alleged Death Eater activities.

"'She was never vicious, you see?' Fletcher said to me—and Merlin knows if that girl had a vicious streak in her she'd be a real fiend, I can tell you. 'She didn't hurt them at all, she didn't shout, she didn't even scowl. When she asked them a question, it sounded almost timid. And when she didn't get the answer she wanted to hear—she knows when she's being lied to, Albus. I guess that's why she wants to have as few other people around as possible—when she didn't get the right answer, she waited again or asked an entirely different question, thus confusing them further. I've seen men confess I never would have thought they would'."

"Quite clever of her," Severus threw in, growing more and more impressed by the minute. Nothing about her betrayed that she had been roundabout the worst thing that could happen to a Dark wizard after they were caught.

"Impressive, don't you think, Severus? I, too, was impressed. She never showed off with it, you see? 'She knows how the minds of those bastards work, Albus. When she enters that room and looks into their faces, she's a completely different person than the Ravon we know. And then when it's over with nothing more in the protocol than any of the other interrogators have in them if they're successful, she walks out again and says 'Let's have a cup of tea, old friend,' and suddenly I can see the little girl in her again. It's amazing. And she isn't even totally aware of what she's doing. She was virtually stunned when I asked her about it…"

_'How are you doing this?'_

_'Doing what, Fletch?'_

_'Getting them to tell you everything they know.'_

_'I don't know what you mean.' She actually looked confused._

_'They're afraid of you.'_

_'Everyone is.' There was a slight hint of sadness in her voice that I could understand very well._

_'I don't mean that. It's like… I can't describe it in terms that wouldn't sound offensive to you, little one.' I was struggling for words. My apt vocabulary ranged from 'dangerous' to 'downright murderous', but none of those expressions came even close._

_'Stop calling me little one and say it like it is.' She looked at me expectantly. Again I was struck at how fragile she looked, how such a little thing as she could get a long-time Death Eater to confess every crime they'd ever committed._

_'They couldn't be more frightened if they looked Death in the eye,' I said, and when I saw the expression on her face I felt inclined to say—and I really meant it—, 'Listen, I'm sorry, I didn't want it to sound like that…'_

_'I'm… Fletch, I… I don't know what to say… I merely want to hear the truth… They hate me, you know? Maybe it's that when I sense their hatred, I experience the same towards them? I don't know. I don't care about them. I don't think I feel anything when I'm questioning them. Come to think of it, they cloak their emotions very thoroughly, Death Eaters…_

Albus, she has no idea what it feels like for them when she's questioning the Death Eaters'."

"Interesting," Severus said.

**What happened to 'You don't have to advertise'?**

"I think so too, Severus. She's grown up. She hasn't changed much in her appearance, but somehow she's grown up. She'd found something she was really good at, something that provided her with the all too necessary opportunities to let the powers flow—if only a little. It must have been a relief unimaginable to any of us when she could do that. She was making herself useful in the only way she could think of, coping with everything in the only way imaginable to her. Being useful."

"And then she quit."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"You know what happened, Severus. And it went against her sense of justice _not_ to be held responsible in the slightest when she clearly felt like it. Survivor's guilt, I think I can call it. Or at least a great part of it."

"And you—"

"I asked her to join us here as soon as I got news of her resigning. She accepted—with a little prompting from my side. The memories are wearing on her, I'm sure, especially when she's here—but that can't be helped. I only hope she remembers some good times, too."

"The memories are wearing on all of us," Severus muttered. _It went against her sense of justice _not_ to be held responsible…_

"She's seen too much death and destruction," Dumbledore said. "Nothing special, these times, actually. But whereas most of us had fourteen years of peace…" The old man sighed heavily. "Too much destruction in too short a time. Too many scars on her soul. I hope being here will take her mind off those things. Don't get me wrong, Severus, I'm very proud of her for what she achieved. If it hadn't been for her to fight as recklessly as she did, we might have lost many more lives. But now that her life's gone to pieces—you should know how the deaths of some people can affect you more than that of others—she needs other things than this appalling, bloody, cursed—I think I could go through the whole alphabet that way—war against the Dark Lord."

"I'm sorry for her," Severus heard himself say.

"Everyone who knows her is—very few people. But you'd better not let her notice. She hates being pitied."

"I'm not actually pitying her, headmaster. It's more that I… I'm somehow… in a way… _impressed_, I think. Although _aghast_ might be just as appropriate a term."

"You admire her, don't you?" It was not a question. 

"I think so."

"Maybe you should tell her that."

"No way. I could never actually say that to anyone I really admire."

"So you'd rather admire her from afar? That's something one usually only does when one has a crush on an actor or actress in our cases."

"It's safer than admiring them from close-up, you know?" Severus couldn't help a small smile.

"And why shouldn't you admire her from close-up? She has her charms. It's about time someone acknowledged her for them and told her she has them—other than me, a very old man." Dumbledore chuckled again. "Why not you?"

"Maybe."

"I'm not even sure she knows that she has as many charms as her mother had—she's very much like her in appearance—if not more. No, I'm sure that she's been trying to conceal everything about her personality during the last months, even more than I've been used to. It's a pity the two of you don't get on too well with each other which is quite strange to me. If there's anyone who can come close to imagining what she must be feeling like, it is you, Severus."

"The thing is that up to a certain moment only a few hours ago, I had that image of her before my eyes, the image of her as a girl."

"And that when she was already a young woman when she left here."

"To me she was merely a student."

"I take it that now she isn't. Not anymore."

"Yes. Quite right. I must have been blind. I've been forced to think very much about her. She won't leave me alone. The more she ignores me or avoids me, the more I want to make it undone. And that when I always thought I could bear it."

_I always thought I could bear being despised._

**But she doesn't even despise you. She's taken to ignoring you instead.**

"Not when it's she who ignores you, right?" Dumbledore smiled ever so slightly. "You do _adore_ her." He sounded amazed.

"Maybe."

"Don't blame yourself for—as you might phrase it—weakness. It's hard not to as soon as you've grown accustomed to her sometimes brutal honesty. And that when she—if she wants to—can be so diplomatic… Who would have thought you could be baited with _that_?" Dumbledore mumbled the last part as though to himself. 

Severus mentally jumped and then gave him a glare. 

_Baited with _that_?_

**She's no Lily. Definitely not.**

_I'm not sure if he was referring to—._

**Alright then. Deny it. You don't have to admit it to me.**

Severus chose to consider that part of Dumbledore's speech not to be paid attention to. He wouldn't grace that slight insolence with a reply for the simple reason that he wasn't quite sure how Dumbledore meant what he'd just said to be taken for.

"Brutal honesty," he repeated instead. "Yes, that's what one could call it."

"But you still haven't answered my question."

"That's because I don't know the right answer to the question you asked."

_Oh, but as a matter of fact, I do._

"But if you asked me if I could find it in me to…" Severus shook his head, rolling his eyes at what had almost passed over his lips. "I think… If I were given a chance…" He stood up and walked towards the window and looked out at the few clouds that were hovering gently in the still blue late-summer sky. "But look at me. I was a Death Eater and I'm still pretending to be one. I did things that are too horrible to be even mentioned in passing and I still do—out of different incentives, yes, but the result is the same. I am everything she has hunted down the last years and even killed. She despises me. She must. And the recent incident wasn't a very clever idea either."

"She doesn't. She never did. Not you. I don't think she has it in her heart to despise someone who has never severely hurt her, never given her a reason to hate him or her. She's not like she likes to present herself. It is some sort of protection, her own as well as that of others. I taught her control and she learnt to control herself better and more completely than I could ever have imagined. It has become almost an obsession… She doesn't want anyone to get under her skin. And thus, she's pushing the people around her away, even those who are not initially repelled by her very aura. Especially now that she has lost her best friends… She doesn't want to lose anymore, although she herself is not aware of all of this. And I won't tell her that; she'd deny everything I just said. In a certain respect, she's very much like you…"

"Headmaster, this conversation won't get us anywhere. I wouldn't dare even consider in earnest—." 

"And why not, say I. A man like you—in his prime—she'd be a most fortunate young lady—."

Severus turned around to face him and interrupted him briskly, saying, "Sariss Ravon would no more think of me than she would of you, headmaster—." 

"Severus, do not think of yourself so meanly—." 

"—and all the better for her." The Potions master shook his head, almost laughing at himself for taking part in this conversation at all and at Dumbledore, too, who seemed… very intent on pairing him off. "And I have no idea what kind of man she would consider to be—."

"You sound as though you think something like love can be controlled. You should know better."

"I have stopped believing into something like—," (Somehow, Severus recoiled from the word 'love'), "—_that_ a long time ago. And to think someone like _her_ could ever… _love_ someone like _me_…" There. He had managed to force it over his lips. "That would be the ultimate arrogance. It hasn't worked once already and was even farther from working out on several other occasions. Why should I try my luck with yet another woman who is just too…" (**Too good for you?)** "Well… simply out of reach?"

The headmaster said nothing.

Severus leant against the windowsill and began to speak again after a long while. "Even if there weren't so many reasons speaking against it, past as well as present… I don't think I ever could…" Severus sighed. "I don't know how to handle her. Sometimes I could strangle her; she makes me furious. She makes me hit the roof. The way she looks at me, or rather _not_ looks at me now, the way she reacted to everything I said—it's so—I don't know…"

"You make her feel uncomfortable, insecure, just like you feel. It's much easier for her to be in a room with an enemy than with someone who—when it comes down to the end—is actually an ally. Allies must be treated with much more care. She might have gotten the impression that you'd regard her as an enemy from the moment on you greeted her the way you did. It hasn't escaped my notice."

Severus looked at him, puzzled. "But that was never what I intended. I was just… unprepared for… I didn't intend to… And then the damage was done and I found I didn't even care. And she knows it."

"That is not unlikely. There seems to have been quite a misunderstanding from the first minute on."

"It wasn't deliberate…"

"And she doesn't do what she does deliberately. She's like an echo. She throws back what's thrown at her. Emotionally, I mean. She can't analyse it first because it's too elusive, so she told me. And when she's really gotten worked up… well, she tends to be completely honest—and I think we all know that nothing hurts more than being told the truth from someone whom we thought didn't know us as well as they then prove to. It's brutal."

"An echo. Reverberating…" Severus became thoughtful. "Then it's beyond control."

"I'm afraid this seems to be so. Especially since you've never been very good at handling the truth."

"Perhaps." He might as well have said, 'Yes, of course. I confess. I admit it. I admit everything. I know it, but I can't bear to hear it spelt out.' But it wasn't necessary.

"So if you'd appreciate to not forever have it the way it is now, you had better be more careful," Dumbledore advised. "I know we already had a similar conversation once, but I thought it inevitable to remind you that the circumstances haven't changed as much as you might think. I'm still very fond of those castle walls. I wouldn't appreciate if they were… _redecorated_ by one of her outbursts. Besides, it's never made her feel better to accidentally break something. It makes her feel guilty. She thinks I'm disappointed when that happens."

Severus nodded. "I understand," he said softly.

"Believe me, this situation the two of you have gotten your relationship in is wearing on her as much as on you—although she seems not to suffer from being in… er… _love_." Severus could have sworn he heard the old man add a sly, "Yet." But he couldn't be sure.

"Alright then." The Potions master turned to leave. "I'll try to handle her with as much care as I can manage—if she apologizes."

"You could be waiting for a very long time. You should know that, now that you have encountered her temper, her persistence."

"Oh, yes, she does have a temper, fiery and uncontrollable…" Severus murmured absent-mindedly. "She does look even more beautiful when she's angry, do you know that?" He shook himself mentally and spoke up, his temper getting the upper hand before he could rein it in, "But I refuse to even consider approaching her as long as this argument hangs in the air between us, as long as she hasn't given in for once in her life—because _I_ definitely won't. And even if she _did_ apologize, I'm not sure that…" the Potions master trailed off, thinking he had said too much already.

But Dumbledore merely laughed heartily.

"What's so funny?"

"You and your pride."

"It's all I have. The only thing that has not yet been taken from me completely."

That said, Severus bid Dumbledore a good evening and left the office, leaving a slightly thoughtful headmaster behind. 

"Pride can be one's downfall. I hope at least one of the two of you can forget it for once…" Dumbledore muttered to himself with only Fawkes to hear it.

**Next chapter:**

Dumbledore speaks to Sariss, Harry seeks a new Chaser and catches his very own Golden Snitch, Snape gets to be apologized to, Sariss and Harry share a nightmare; a bit of Quidditch, a childhood memory and a Snape who can't believe that he's thinking in _those_ terms. Loads of stuff to look forward to, eh?


	8. A Dreamer's Mind

**Author's note:** Thank you, **Blaise**! I can't stress enough how much your reviews and mails and letters and everything mean to me. *hugs* Thank you, **Charlsie**! Nice to know when somebody's actually sticking with me! *hugs* If you liked the last chapter you'll most certainly like this one, too…

Chapter 7: A Dreamer's Mind

**_Nightquest a quest not for the past  
But for tomorrow to make it last  
Simply the best way to walk this life  
Hand in hand with a dreamer's mind_**

_—Nightwish: Nightquest_

Sariss headed up the spiral staircase to Dumbledore's office. The headmaster had been so kind as to invite her to a cup of tea on Sunday. Frankly, she didn't think his reasons for inviting her had something to do with only having some tea. She expected it to be merely a pretext to be able to talk about the recent incident—which she was not comfortable with. Neither talking about it nor the incident in itself she was comfortable with.

She knocked, waited for him to bid her enter, and did so. "Good afternoon, Professor Dumbledore."

"Ah, and a good afternoon to you, my dear. Come in and sit down. I suppose tea is in order?"

"Of course it is, thank you," she said as he handed her a cup of steaming peppermint tea that warmed her hands immediately. "Mmm, it's lovely," she added when she inhaled the tea's aroma.

"You're welcome. So… how is it going?"

"What do you mean?"

"Teaching and all," he said vaguely.

"Er… well, teaching is great, better than I thought at first. The students are alright. Food's still excellent. The accommodations are very lovely—I like the large fireplace in my rooms very much… Everything's fine, yes, perfectly fine. Couldn't be better."

"I believe you exactly five sixths of what you just said."

"And I believe you every single word of what you just said."

"Care to fill me in about the sixth sixth?"

"Not really." She made a face.

"What if I told you that I already know about it?"

"So the _Potions master_ has spilt the beans already?" Sariss was everything but enthusiastic about that.

"Indeed he has. But, you know me, I always like to hear two sides of the story."

"I can _so_ imagine what he told you."

"Really?" Dumbledore grinned.

Sariss rolled her eyes. "Great. This is so perfect. Now I'm providing the entertainment, isn't that so?"

"I must admit that I found what Severus told me very entertaining already, yes." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled merrily from behind his half-moon spectacles. "I wonder if you can add something to the story that I do not know yet."

Sariss smirked. "You know what?"

"What?"

"He's driving me mad, this man. He's driving me mad. I don't know why it happens now, but he's driving me mad."

"Very eloquent that was." Sariss rolled her eyes again and jumped to her feet. "Why might Severus Snape be driving you mad?"

"Finally something I can answer without too much thinking. Thank you very much," she said, more than just a tinge of sarcasm in her voice. "It's as simple as that: He's treating me as though I were a student of his whom he can scold and yell at and Merlin knows what." 

Sariss was pacing back and forth by now, underlining each sentence with a dramatic gesture. "I could put my hands around his throat and squeeze, really, Professor. Very, very slowly. And it's not just what he verbally throws at me, it's what he throws at me emotionally. This, of course, he does not intentionally, I understand that very well, but I _lose_ myself when he does that. I can't think anymore. I start uttering exactly the things that make him even angrier and then he says something that makes me even angrier and so on and so on, until I have no choice but to leave, lest—." Sariss broke off, seeing the look on Dumbledore's face. "I don't understand what you find so funny about all of this."

"Well, it's not exactly funny, but very entertaining." 

Sariss scowled at him, which seemingly only increased his amusement. She groaned in exasperation.

"You see, my dear, I had a very similar conversation with a person the two of us know very well."

"Oh, goodie, here it comes… Let me guess what he said then, alright? That I'm… incompetent, not very bright—to put it mildly—despite of what I may have been when in school, er… what else could there be?" she mused. "Ah, yes, stubborn, of course, I've been called that a lot. And of course, I'm absolutely obnoxious, despicable… Have I already said that I'm heartless, too?"

By now Dumbledore quite obviously fought back laughter. "You know I really find it quite amusing how you get roundabout—no, it's only _almost_—everything wrong. And that with your special talents…" He shook his head.

"Well, if I am _so_ wrong, then why is he treating me as though I had killed his pet?" she asked, still incredulous at his unceasing hilarity. "Aside from the obvious answer, that is…"

"And what is the obvious answer?"

"His inflated ego. I hadn't even noticed that before I came back here, you know? You were right about warning me that he wouldn't take it lightly if a former student of his were to get the job he had been after for how long? Almost twenty years by now?"

"Roundabout that, yes. No wonder he's frustrated."

"I just hope he gets over it soon. Even sitting by his side at mealtimes makes my skin crawl…"

"Don't worry, when you start a new job it's normal for things not to go well at first."

"You tell me."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled from behind his half-moon spectacles; his grin had never even faltered.

"You really aren't of great help this time, Professor," Sariss stated dryly. 

"I think the two of you can sort this out like grown-up people."

"Him, grown up? I don't think so—oh, gods, if I had said that a few years ago I would have served detention upon detention…"

Dumbledore sniggered. 

Sariss rolled her eyes. "My distress really amuses you. I can't believe it."

"How ever did you notice that?" he asked brightly.

Sariss sighed. "No offence, Professor, but this is useless. I'm outta here."

She headed for the door.

"Wait a second."

"What is it now? Do you want to hear more so you can really laugh your head off?"

"Seriously, Sariss, I think you should perhaps apologize—." 

"_Apologize_?" she exploded. "Whatever for? He started it!"

_He hurt me first._

"Didn't you just say that he doesn't seem to be the grown-up of the two of you?"

"Are you implying that this might be a The-Wiser-Head-Gives-In-Situation?"

"Not implying. It quite obviously is."

She groaned. "I'll think about it," she said, pouting a bit. "Thoroughly… Come to think of it… _Very thoroughly._ I don't feel like being the wiser head. I prefer being angry with him. I choose to."

"Why? Why do you have to choose to be angry with him?"

"This being angry is very useful, you see. It forces back some other feelings that aren't so easy to handle, feelings coming from him and others. Not to mention myself. That's the worst part. I'm not used to feeling like this."

"How?"

"Hurt. And furious because of it." A single word, voiced in a questioning tone managed to draw the essence of what it was all about out of her. "A part of me wants to see him suffer. But he so obviously doesn't even care if I'm there or not. I want him to realize that some things he said were just not fair—."

"I understand, but I think nonetheless—."

"I already said I'd think about it, Professor. Perhaps I'll give him the chance to make the first move, which he will if he knows what's good for him," she muttered the last few words a bit too harshly for her own taste. Then she took a deep breath, arranged the expression on her face into something resembling a faint smile and continued much more calmly, "If you'll excuse me now? I think there's nothing to be added to this topic of conversation."

"Is there?"

"Absolutely. Good day, Professor. Thanks for the invitation."

"Any time, my dear, any time."

_I'd rather eat my wand without pepper and salt than apologize any time in the near future… Arrogant bastard—I can't believe I thought that. He was my teacher. I shouldn't be thinking something like that about him. _

**But he _is_ arrogant. **

_Yes, he definitely is arrogant. And sarcastic. And rude. And unfair. And—._

**Incredible how many words you know to describe him with. Tell me something.**

_What?_

**Why is he constantly on your mind when you think so ill of him?**

_I'm not listening to your implications because there is nothing about him that I find remotely attractive. So shut up. I never want to see him again. I can't believe it has come this far—and that within a matter of days… If it goes much worse we'll kill each other—I, of course, will be the survivor, you can bet on that…_

**Enough, enough! I will shut up—.**

_Fine._

**For now…**__

**~*~*~**

**_Attention Gryffindors!!!_**

**_Quidditch tryouts for the position of a _**

**_CHASER_**

**_scheduled for_**

**_Saturday 4th October 14.00 h_**

**_Down at the pitch, of course_**

**_BYOB_**

**_(Bring your own broom)_**

read the notice Harry had first pinned to the wall in the Gryffindor common room and was now pinning to the general notice board in the Entrance Hall so that no one could possibly overlook it—even those who tended to leave Gryffindor Tower in the morning hardly opening their eyes and came back with drooping eyelids in the evening after hours of detention or studying which, in Harry's opinion, sometimes tended to come down to the same thing.

As he magicked the last pin in place, Professor McGonagall joined him at the notice board, a message of her own in her hand.

"Ah, so we'll finally have a complete team again," she said. "I trust you'll choose the best candidate, Potter."

"Naturally, Professor," Harry said and stepped aside as the Professor unrolled the parchment she'd had been holding. "We fully intend to get the cup. I trust I can speak for the as of yet incomplete team there."

"Good," she said. "There. That should do it. Have a nice day, Mr Potter." She swept away in direction of the Great Hall.

The poster she had stuck to the notice board announced a Hallowe'en costume ball, which would take place, surprise, surprise, on 31st October, Hallowe'en night.

And as it happened to be, as Harry stood there, reading the notice that was next to his own, he already had an idea as to what his costume would be. It was almost ridiculously simple. But brilliant.****

**~*~*~**

On 4th October, after lunch, Harry, Ron and the rest of the team went down to the Quidditch pitch to organize the tryouts. It was merely one thirty, but there were already a few people waiting for them. Some quite nervous-looking third and fourth years were comparing their broomsticks and exchanging pieces of general advice.

"Um… if everyone is ready… Anyone mind if we'd begin early?" Harry asked. "No? Fine. Here's how it goes: One at a time. Nat or Jamie will throw the Quaffle for you to catch and you'll try to score. It's as simple as that. Ten shots each and we'll see."

Harry drew out a piece of parchment and a quill. "Right. Who's first?"

Uneasy glances. Then,

"I'll do it. Name's Jenny Bateman. Third year."

"Good. Do your worst to Ron."

The curly-haired girl sped off on her Nimbus Two Thousand, caught the Quaffle from Nat—and missed the hoop by inches. She tried again, only to have the Quaffle blocked by Ron who had already guessed where she'd been aiming. So it went on. No matter how hard the girl tried, no success. And she did try.

After her ten shots, she came back down again, blushing, and said, shrugging, "Well, too bad, isn't it?" before she left the pitch.

Harry shrugged, too. "Next."

It went on that way. Hardly anyone managed to get the Quaffle past Ron. The best of the candidates scored three times out of ten. (Harry made a note about that, since it was quite an achievement.) Ron wasn't pleased and prevented the following would-be Chaser entirely from scoring.

Harry kept taking notes on everyone's performance be it abysmal or acceptable—which meant one to three goals, because no one managed more all afternoon.

"Alright then," Harry said tiredly, scanning the few people who had managed to get a few shots past Ron. "I guess there's no one else who—."

"Harry! Harry, wait!" A black-clad, red-haired whirlwind came rushing across the pitch and skidded to a halt in front of Harry, panting and forcing out a, "Sorry. Am I too late? Please tell me I'm not. I was in the library with Hermione and I completely forgot the time."

"Ginny! No, it's not too late. Why haven't you told me you wanted to try out?"

"Because Ron would have said something like 'Ginny, you're my sister, Mum's counting on me to protect you, Quidditch is nothing for you, it's too dangerous'." She did a quite accurate impression of Ron's voice. "You get my meaning?"

"Yeah, that sums up what I can imagine Ron saying," Harry chuckled.

"Well, may I have a go at the hoops now? I'm nervous enough as it is—."

"Ginny!" Ron came soaring down towards them. 

"Here comes the entertainment…" she muttered.

"Why are you holding your broomstick?" Ron asked.

"Because I want to sweep the stands. Honestly, Ron, what do you think why I've got my broom with me? I want to get on the team."

"What? Ginny, you're my little sister. Mum wants me to keep you safe. Quidditch is too dangerous—."

Harry chuckled again.

"What?"

"Ginny's a Diviner."

"Huh?"

"I knew you'd say all that," said Ginny wryly.

"Anyway, you're _not_ trying out. Period."

"Ronald Arthur Weasley!" Ginny's voice echoed off the stands. She sounded remarkably like Mrs Weasley when she didn't like Ron playing the big brother. Everyone present stopped dead in their tracks, be they up in the air or sitting around on the grass.

If it were possible to kill by a mere look—which, at second thought might just be possible indeed, under the condition that you used the right spell—Ron would already be a sticky puddle on the floor, decorated with Harry's old Firebolt.

"Ginny, I'm not joking."

"Neither am I, Ron, neither am I. I am going to try out for the team. See if you can stop me!"

She kept glaring at her brother, resting her hands on her hips, while Harry stood by watching the little family row. He was in a bit of trouble. Whom should he support? His best friend? Or rather his girlfriend? It was a stalemate-situation. 

Natalie and Jamie, who had meanwhile been doing a little practice of their own, finally soared down towards the small group of people.

"Sorry to disturb your little chit-chat," asked Jamie, "but are we finished?"

"Yeah, can we come down now? Who will it be?" Nat joined in.

"Not finished. And it'll be me if my thickhead-brother stops being a pest," Ginny said resolutely.

"It's not going to be you, because Mum would kill me if I'd let you get hurt."

"Oh come on. Let her try. Won't hurt," Natalie said.

"Er… listen. Why won't you let Ginny have a go?" Jamie said. "I mean, if she scores against the best Keeper since Wood—" (Here, Jamie winked at Ginny) "—she's earned being on the team." 

"Yes, and you've got to shut up forever," Ginny mumbled.

"And if she can't beat you and can't score better than everyone else here today, she won't be on the team anyway. Either way, problems solved."

"Fine with me," said Ginny, a glint of steel in her usually gentle warm light-brown eyes as she looked at Ron. "Let's go."

She mounted her old Shooting Star and was off into the air.

"Harry, Mum's going to kill me…" Ron whined.

"I'm afraid if Ginny doesn't try out she's going to kill you. Either way you're in a bit of trouble."

"That was encouraging. Thanks."

"Any time," Harry said brightly. "Hey, look at it that way, we might have two Weasleys on the team again. Sort of a lucky charm."

"I'd better go up there and do everything I can to prevent that." Ron mounted the broom. "Mum's so going to kill me," he muttered while he sped off towards where Ginny already hovering, waiting to have a go at the hoops.

Frankly, Harry was convinced Ginny would beat everyone else who had tried out that day. He had seen her play Quidditch when they'd been practising during the summer holidays. Harry idly wondered why Ginny hadn't tried out earlier. Two years before, almost the whole team had graduated which had left five openings. Only Harry and Ron (who had been on the team since the year after Wood had left) had remained. 

But the answer was obvious. Ron had just given it to him. 'Quidditch is too dangerous for little fragile Ginny.' Not that Harry didn't understand Ron's opinion about his sister. He just thought that if Ginny wanted it, she should at least try. Trying didn't hurt. And if she were on the team, Harry would see her more often, since as soon as practice got more intense and the N.E.W.Ts were close, there'd be not much time for anything else but those things. Harry wished with all his heart that Ginny would beat Ron more often than three times.

Harry, too, rose in the air and hovered at a distance from where Ginny was just being thrown the Quaffle. She caught it deftly, pretended to throw it through the left hoop—Ron dived there—but then threw it right through the middle, where Ron had been seconds ago.

In addition to the Quaffle, Ginny threw an incredibly smug look at her brother who, in return, looked much more determined to prevent Ginny from scoring again—which she did despite Ron's considerable efforts. She knew her brother too well. But that didn't hinder Ron from stopping her third shot.

That made Ginny change her strategy at random. Shot four and five went through the hoops like nothing. No one had ever scored that easily against Ron. Shot number six went through the hoop far on the right at an almost impossible angle.

"Give up, Ron," Harry advised. "You lost; Ginny won."

Ron cursed and once more complained that "Mum's going to be so not pleased."

"Look it that way, dearest brother, that Slytherin Keeper, what's-his-name?"

"Hayes," Ron murmured.

"Hayes will have an even harder time with me than you just had. That, I promise you."

"Mum's so going to kill me."

"She doesn't have to know…" Ginny said.

"But if she finds out…"

"Then it's my fault alone. After all, you did your best not to let me on the team. You have the perfect alibi."

"Gin," Harry said, "sometimes I think you'd have made one hell of a Slytherin."

"I hope that's a compliment."

"Of course. You're cunning and ambitious—."

"And evil," Ron added.

"Hey, Nat, Jamie! We're finished! Colin, Dennis!" (The two of them had been sitting somewhere in the stands, watching, and came now running onto the field.) "Any objections as to Ginny's getting on the team?"

A chorus of "No"s and "Not at all"s answered.

"You're on the team. Congratulations, Gin."

"Thank you. And the reason for that decision wasn't that I'm sleeping with the Captain, everyone got that?" Ginny said with a Cheshire cat grin on her face. "Good. I don't want to hear anything like that anyway."

"Gin, there's going to be a Hallowe'en costume party and I was thinking, you know, I have an idea as to your costume…" said Harry.

"Which would be?" Ginny asked, eyeing him curiously.

"Miss Weasley, would you like to be my Golden Snitch?"

Ginny giggled. "So you can catch me, huh?"

"Sort of."

"Okay. If you're my Seeker."

**~*~*~**

It was late afternoon on 31st October and she was getting ready for the costume ball, that is, if you could call pacing half-dressed through her chambers 'preparing for the ball'.

The reason for this: Severus Snape, the Potions master, whom she hadn't spoken a single word to since _the day_. 

Neither had he. He hadn't even snarled at her or sneered at her. She hadn't sensed much coming from him either. Of course, he knew about her talents and didn't want to give himself away. But what was it he was hiding? That was the question. Did he in fact want to apologize himself but couldn't? Or was it rather that he was so stubborn that he simply wasn't the man to admit that he had been… unfair. Unfair and cruel.

"This cannot go on._ I _can't go on like this! This situation is wearing on my nerves. Eight weeks already! Eight bloody damn weeks!" she cursed at her reflection in the mirror. "He could have approached me, could have tried to at least show that it was not as bad as it felt. I'm not even asking for an apology! Ouch!" She viciously tugged at her hair since it had become entangled in the brush. That was strange, since it was a Charmed one that usually prevented something like that from happening. Wincing, she all but tore it loose and threw it into the corner. "He wouldn't give me an apology anyway, his ego being as blown up as it is—Stop! Be reasonable. Act like the adult that you are, Sariss! If he can't, you must. This situation leads nowhere as it is. You go and apologize—but… how to do this?" 

**Right. How to apologize to a man who makes you feel so—. **

_Would make a good title for a book, wouldn't it?_

"I am sorry, Professor. I was not aware that I—No, no, no, no!" She ran a hand through her hair and exhaled. 

**What would he say? Think. What would he answer if you said what you have in mind…**

"Professor Snape, may I have a word with you?" 

_No, I can't say it like that. I'd be quoting him. _

**Not good. Think, Sariss, think. How to apologize to a man you—despite everything—respect so much that he makes you feel like a child—and furious because of that?**

"Think. Be convincing. Express yourself clearly," she told her reflection in the mirror.

Unnecessary as it was, it answered (which was very annoying sometimes), "I think I won't be of much use here."

"I could use someone to practice on. Why not myself?"

"Of course, my judgment would be slightly biased…"

"Sod it. I'm not asking for your advice. Just tell me if it sounds not too confusing. I want to be convincing. Gods, I feel like a… a student…"

Sariss reached for another part of her costume and began putting it on. "Forgive me, Professor—." She winced and shook herself. She wanted to apologize and not beg for mercy before a judge. "I am sorry. I was acting like—." Equally bad. Mentally slapping herself she started over. "I am sorry… that I gave you the impression—." 

"Very good, dear."

"Thank you. Oh! Now I've forgotten what it was that I said!"

"You said you were sorry that you gave me the impression…"

"Oh, not _you_! But thanks anyway." Sariss bit her lip in thought, as she fastened the headscarf on her hair, which loosely fell down her shoulders in perfectly straight tresses this time.

"I am sorry that I gave you the impression that… That what? Undermining his authority was what he had called it…" Sariss muttered. "The impression that I was undermining your authority? That's good. Short, practical, matter-of-factly. Er… I didn't intend to do so… That's not it… It was the last thing on my mind. Better. And I'm sorry for having it made sound like that. I think I've got it now. What do you think? Hey!" Her reflection had fallen asleep. "If I could use seven years of rotten luck I'd have smashed you ages ago," she muttered. 

The Mirror-Sariss snored. 

"I do _not_ snore! You! You, mirror! Wake up!"

It jerked awake. "What? Oh… Lovely speech, lovely really—." 

"Oh, shut up and serve your purpose. I need to finish my apology and my costume. At least try to act like the reflection you're intended to be."

Sariss fumbled on her clothing. "…having it made sound like that," she muttered. "That's not enough. It doesn't flow. I need an appropriate—." She froze, having just put the finishing touch to her costume and hair. _That's it!_ "My choice of words was _in_appropriate…" she trailed off, the following words only mouthing to herself, as she swept out of the doorway to make her way down to the party, which was about to take place in the Great Hall.

**~*~*~**

The Great Hall was decked out in Hallowe'en decoration. Hagrid's huge pumpkins had been set up all around the dance floor and live bats swarmed over the enchanted ceiling which displayed a cloudless, starry night. Smaller pumpkins hovered in the places that were usually occupied by myriads of floating candles, providing light through the scary faces that had been carved into them.

And everywhere were costumed people. Vampires, angels, devils, ghouls, some sort of greenish, alien-looking costumes Sariss couldn't tell what they were—they were just too alien—and many more. The red-haired Miss Weasley had even donned on a golden, fluffy-looking costume with magically fluttering wings on it, the Golden Snitch. Thus, Harry Potter merely had to wear his Quidditch robes and _voilà!_ the Seeker could catch the Snitch effortlessly.

Sariss kept throwing glances in direction of the doors of the Great Hall, intending to intercept Snape as soon as he came into her line of sight. She'd get it over with as quickly as possible. The situation had become unbearable. The tension was wearing on her. It had to stop. And if, finally, being the wiser head meant to say 'I'm sorry' in a small voice and then scurry away, she'd do it.

"Ah, Sariss! How lovely to see you here!" Dumbledore came over and greeted her. "And what a lovely costume you're wearing. Pray tell, what does it represent? A gypsy woman?"

"Lacking any better ideas I decided to go as a witch—or rather a witch pretending to be a Muggle pretending to be a witch," Sariss answered, taking a close look at Dumbledore's costume. A Greek god. Poseidon, she assumed, because of the trident he held in one hand.

"A bit avant-garde, isn't it?" said McGonagall who was dressed like Thetis, the goddess of the sea, with all those brooches of sea creatures decorating and folding the white-golden garment into intricate pleats. She was very much complimenting Dumbledore by having chosen that particular costume.

"I wouldn't know. It was the first thought that struck my mind and I tend to stick to the choices once I've made my mind up," Sariss replied. "By the way, I like your costumes very much, Professors. Had I known you intended to delve into the depth of Greek mythology I just might have dropped my idea of a costume and joined you."

"And which myth would you have chosen, dear? Perhaps Med—?" McGonagall began, then slapped her forehead. "I'm sorry. Didn't think before speaking. Must come with age."

Sariss smirked, quickly glancing at the as of yet Snape-less doorway. "Then I must be much older than the two of you put together—but there's no need to apologize. Unlike of what most people think of me, I do have a sense of humour. Not in the particular situation but in retrospect I think it did have a certain entertainment-value," she said. "So I might as well have masked myself as Medusa and turned you to stone as you laid eyes on my 'terrible beauty'."

"I would trust you to overdo it with your costume," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling, a broad grin on his face, as Sariss once again chanced a glance in direction of the doorway where—.

_There he is._

"Excuse me, Professors, there's something I must do." She walked towards Snape as fast as she could without breaking into an all too obvious run. She must reach him before he crossed the Great Hall and she'd find herself surrounded by curious stares.

**Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in—.**

_Quiet!_

"Professor Snape?" She'd managed to hold him up when he was still near the exit.

"Yes?" He raised an eyebrow at her. 

Sariss would have loved to wipe this barely visible—but nonetheless present—smirk off his face.

**Maybe it comes with the costume…**

"A word, please," she said instead.

"What is it, Miss Ravon?" He'd done it again. '_Miss_ Ravon,' he'd said and in such a self-satisfied tone of voice. It greatly annoyed her that he didn't think of her as an equal—after all, she was a teacher, too! But Sariss swallowed her anger. _I won't let you get me this time._ There was no one who could make her lose control over her tongue so quickly as he.

_If only I could sense more than this always latently present anger… He's too good at guarding his emotions._

**And that when you rely on that talent of yours so much.**

"I wanted to apologize," she said softly.

"You want to _what_?" He sounded incredulous. 

_Is that a good thing or a bad thing? _

**No idea. Continue…**

"Apologize for what I said quite some time ago."

"What was it you said again?"

"Don't go there. You know exactly what I'm talking about."

"Humour me."

She sighed. Why did he make it even harder for her? Walking up to him and even starting this conversation had been difficult enough. In fact, it had become more and more difficult by every passing day, but she would never admit this to him, of course, not now anyway. And what did he want now? Did he want her to prostrate herself before him, the great Potions master, former Death Eater and thickhead extraordinaire?

Sariss took a deep breath and began to speak. "I am sorry that I gave you the impression I was undermining your authority. The last thing on my mind was to do that. And I am sorry for having made it sound like that." 

**Sounded good, dear.**

_Shouldn't he say something now? Hmm. Then not. _

**Right. Let's continue, get it over with. No use putting together a speech and then not finishing its recital, is it? **

"My choice of words was inappropriate, and I do apologize for not having been able to express myself a bit more diplomatically."

Grabthar's hammer! Merlin's beard! Medusa's hairdo! After a few words he could have interrupted her and said that he understood and that it was all right. Instead, he made her feel as though she were still a student! Again! But the point was, when she _had_ been a student, he hadn't been like that. Never.

_Professor, are you listening to a single word I say?_ she thought.

She continued, not looking in his face. It would have been unbearable. She knew how he looked at people he despised. It was enough to imagine the look he must be giving her; she had no need to see it. "I don't want any bad blood between us. After all, we're on the same side. If we start clawing at each other for no reason at all, who needs Voldemort?" She inwardly patted her shoulder in approval of the fact that this thought had suddenly sprung to her mind without her having to struggle for words as she had done earlier in her chambers. Usually, she was not good at improvising… But she definitely had a point. Even _he_ must see this.

But there was no answer.

"I'm sorry, Professor," she said. It was not unexpected that he didn't answer to something as logical as that. So she thought, she might make it easier for him. "It was wrong of me to say those things." It physically hurt her to say that—because she hadn't been wrong. At no point—or so she thought.

But from him came nothing.

This was getting ridiculous. How large an opening did he need to squeeze a 'Forget it' or an 'I understand' through?

"Forgive me," she whispered. "Please." 

She bent her head and focused on her hands that were fidgeting around with an ornament on her skirt.

Again, silence.

_This is hopeless._

She might as well leave before she started to cry with humiliation and fury and disappointment. That anyone would throw away an apology like he did now was beyond her. Her eyes were beginning to sting. A distinct lump formed in her throat. She wanted to scream at him; she wanted to shake him.

"For heaven's sake, Snape! Say something!"

"Anything else?"

"What?" She looked up, puzzled. His silky voice had startled her when he finally answered to her apologies. She had stopped expecting an answer at all. "No, I think that was all I had to say. If… if you'll excuse me… Professor… I'll have to look for what's left of my dignity now…"

"I don't think I'll excuse you, Miss Ravon."

She groaned softly. Did he have any idea how much he was wearing on her nerves already? "What else is it that you want?"

"Would a sign of good will be too much to ask for?"

"I beg your pardon?" she asked suspiciously. 

**What did he mean with that?**

"You owe me a dance," he stated and held out his hand for her to take.

Sariss's jaw must have hit the floor along with her eyes that must have popped out of her skull. She stared at him open-mouthed. "W-w-what?" she stuttered.

"You heard me."

"Er… I…"

"I take that as a yes," he said and actually had the nerve to grab her wrist and pull her towards the dance floor.

Lacking any better ideas, Sariss thought she might as well do as he had asked. 

_Asked? Requested?_ _Yeah, right… _she thought sarcastically. 

**That's one way to put it. The other is that he doesn't leave you a choice. **

_'A sign of good will' he said… _

**I heard it. A nice way of avoiding to say 'Do it or else…'**

**~*~*~**

Quite impressive. It had taken her longer than he would ever have expected to apologize. If she hadn't done that now, he thought, he would have done it very soon. She was very good at ignoring people, so he had noticed. Eight weeks of completely ignoring him. Quite an achievement, considering they were, so to speak, neighbours at mealtimes—although, he had to admit that he'd noticed her repeatedly skipping breakfast or dinner.

Her little speech had quite impressed him; he couldn't deny that.

In fact, he was thinking about what to reply. It was strange that he couldn't think of anything at the moment. It must be that strawberry scent. It was fruity and very faint, but at the same time, it seemed so incredibly sweet and heady that it seemed to prevent him from thinking about anything else. He didn't even listen to what she was saying anymore.

"Forgive me," she said softly. "Please."

Maybe it was her tone of voice or the fact that her shoulders had slumped considerably… Severus was ripped out of the delights that had infiltrated his mind on account of her scent and voice. The voice that sounded unutterably small now, almost pleading. 

He almost wanted to say that he was sorry, too.

"For heaven's sake, Snape! Say something!" It was some sort of shouted whisper. A desperate whisper.

"Anything else?" he said finally. A Snape didn't apologize, no matter how much he or she felt like it.

"What?" Sariss looked up, puzzled. "No, I think that was all I had to say. If… if you'll excuse me… Professor… I'll have to look for what's left of my dignity now…"

She looked close to tears. Furious that he had practically made her crawl at his feet and beg for his mercy. Nothing would change if she left now. She'd still be ignoring him and with much more reason to do so than before.

"I don't think I'll excuse you, Miss Ravon."

"What else is it that you want?" she asked exasperatedly.

"Would a sign of good will be too much to ask for?" He tried to sound affable, but felt he failed miserably. 

"I beg your pardon?" she asked suspiciously. 

**A sign of good will? Nice choice of words. Leaves so much to the imagination…**

"You owe me a dance," he quickly clarified himself—although her suspicion wasn't quite unjustified. Indeed, now that he thought about it… But no. If he ever wanted the image in the Mirror to become real, he mustn't even think about resorting to such means. Not that he'd ever honestly believe that such would work with her.

He held out his hand for her to take.

She stared at him disbelievingly, her kissable mouth opening and closing several times before she managed to stutter, "W-w-what?" 

"You heard me."

"Er… I…"

"I take that as a yes," he said.

Severus unceremoniously snatched her arms and drew her out on the dance floor. This was his chance to apologize without having to say the words. Severus Snape didn't apologize like that. Actually, he had no idea how he would apologize if he did it. By sending her flowers? Ridiculous.

He'd try to be nice to her. How was he supposed to ever get closer to her when he kept up the pretence of being unapproachable? How could he get her to be like she'd been before he'd caused this mess that had started as soon as they'd laid eyes upon each other on September 1st? Even Severus realized that if he wanted to only get near to what he'd seen in the Mirror they'd have to start over. How was he supposed to convince her to do just that—without saying the words?

Well, for a start, he had her with him. Check. She didn't run—for fear he'd be angry with her again? Anyway, check. 

But she was much too stiff in his arms. She almost didn't let him steer her properly over the dance floor. She clearly wished to be somewhere else. Well, how could she not? If only Severus knew how to clear up the mess he'd caused. Why had he been treating her the way he had, in the first place? He couldn't remember a reason that had anything to do with her personally.

This would prove quite difficult.

**Perhaps you should talk to her?**

_As if I hadn't thought of that myself…_

Severus set himself the task to try and establish something that would resemble a halfway decent conversation, just to demonstrate that the thundercloud that had hung over them was no more.

"So…" he began. "What is this costume you wear supposed to mean?" She looked a bit like a gypsy woman with that patchwork skirt of hers and her hair—it glimmered in all shades of brown and red as the Great Hall was lighted by a ridiculous amount of hollowed-out pumpkins. She'd bound it back with a headscarf, and large golden earrings caught the light and reflected it beautifully. She was wearing very red lipstick; her eyes were rimmed with kohl, her eyelids painted a dark violet eye-shadow; her lashes looked incredibly long and thick and black. That made her eyes look very large and almost hypnotizing. 

All of her costume seemed to underline the temperament Severus had gotten acquainted with. She had a gypsy temper despite the fact that she could hardly have any gypsy blood. She was, after all, a Ravon. And the Ravons had Welsh and Irish ancestors. The Ravon family tree was traceable way back to the time of the Hogwarts Great Four, right back to Rowena Ravenclaw herself. 

Her temper. He found it very well possible that he'd come to adore it—if she'd let him…

"I'm a Muggle witch," she said curtly.

"Isn't that a contradiction in terms?"

"I _am_ a contradiction in terms," she replied dryly. 

**Clearly, there's a certain sense of humour beneath the pretty façade… I keep thinking—**

_And that when she's so much more than just pretty and intelligent and—_

**Oh stop it! You all but had to force her to even dance with you. Quite understandable the way you reacted, old chap. **

_Should I have made it easy for her?_

**Perhaps…**

_That's not my style, making it easier for others when they don't make it easier for me. Not even when it's her who I'd give anything in the world to—_

**Raving egomaniac.**

_What was that?_

**Nothing.**

_Good. Now shut up. I'm talking to her._

**Try to be charming at least—although I still think that perhaps it's not such a good idea to get involved—**

_Put. A. Sock. In. It._

"Believe it or not, this hasn't escaped my notice," he drawled.

"Is that so?"

"Indeed."

"Well, there's no need to ask what your costume's supposed to mean… nice eye-teeth, by the way." How could she sound so detached and cold all the time? That conversation was going quite nicely—if one paid no attention to the way the words were spoken. Anyone who would have read the words would have thought, 'Why, that's small talk.' But with that definite edge to her voice…

Well, Severus should know how she could seem so detached. He only hoped that she was only on the outside…

He was fairly sure that if he managed to make her smile, he'd be reaching the next stage of his barely existing relationship with her.

"Thank you, Milady. And to humour the Count himself…" Snape lifted her hand and blew a kiss on it. "I've crossed oceans of—." 

"I think this will do," Sariss said frostily, pulling her hand back very quickly. Her eyes were blazing again. She looked even more like the witch she'd wanted to be tonight. "I regard my _offences_ atoned for," she almost growled. He found her even more breathtaking every second that was passing during the moments she spoke. "If you would be so kind as to excuse me now, I still have this remains-of-my-dignity-business to attend to, now more than ever."

_Ouch! That hurt. Oh, but look at her…_

**Looks like you moved in for the kill too early. You weren't even close.**

_I don't think this is funny._

**Neither do I. But you're the sensitive part of us. I'm just the analytical and critical part.**

_You forgot 'annoying'._

**You call me annoying? That's a good one.**

_I thought I was being the sarcastic one. How come you have it, too?_

**Beats me. Must have rubbed off on me.**

_Great. A bickering contest with myself._

"I am not your inferior," she said softly, so as not to be overheard by someone who needn't know that they had somewhat of a row again. "Don't ever treat me like that again." Then the woman rushed out of the Great Hall in a flurry of multicoloured robes. The Muggle witch. The contradiction in terms. The deepest desire of his heart.

He had to fight the urge to run after her, snatch her and simply…

But he didn't. He merely stared after her until she couldn't be seen any longer—pretending that he had not just been left standing there.

**~*~*~**

Harry saw himself walk through a labyrinth of tunnels and caves. It was dark. Merely a few lonely torches chased away the gloom and that they did only when a crossing or a turn was ahead.

"Where am I?" Harry whispered to himself, looking around in confusion for a moment. "Hello?" he shouted. "Anybody here?" The only answer was his multiplied voice resounding from the walls.

Then he shrugged. Well, he'd have to follow the path and somehow find out where it was leading. It was the logical thing to do. But it would be nice to have a bit more light… Where's my wand? he thought. He didn't have it anywhere in his robes, which was strange because it had become as much of a habit to him to slip it into his pocket as putting on his glasses in the morning was.

After several minutes—time seemed to have no meaning—Harry perceived the sound of a familiar voice. He hurried along the tunnel and crept around the corner. Now he could understand what was being said. He decided to rather stay hidden.

"You!" a female voice shouted, echoing in a larger tunnel or even a small chamber.

"I'm afraid so, sweetheart," answered a hissing voice. It made Harry's hair stand on end, because he knew whom this voice belonged to. "A pity so much time has passed, isn't it?"

"I hate you."

"Why so harsh words? You've become pretty, and you're very powerful, not as powerful as myself but granted, you have your… ahem… hidden assets."

"You're not real."

"Am I not? Then why are you shaking?"

"You're not here. You're just a dream. I'm having a nightmare," she said.

A dream? Yes. This could be another one of those strange dreams Harry had sometimes when his scar was hurting… Harry realized that this might indeed be a dream… But whose was it? His own? Voldemort's?

"I assure you, Sariss, although this is some sort of dream, it is quite real—in both our minds."

Or was it—Professor Ravon's nightmare?

"So you're at Hogwarts, aren't you? Clever move to return there. But it's not as safe as it might seem to you."

"It had nothing to do with you!"

"You're hiding there, aren't you? Or have you just grown nostalgic, even at your young age?"

"Get out of my dream!"

"You have no dreams. You have memories."

Harry, meanwhile, had crept closer and could see them now clearly in the torchlight. Voldemort, a bony creature, clad all in black. And Professor Ravon who was as pale as her nightgown. She might have been a ghost. She might as well be the Grey Lady—if it weren't for her hair to reflect the flickering light of the torches as it was.

"Get out of my mind!" she shouted across the small chamber, her voice echoing several times because of—as Harry thought it must be—the domed ceiling. Harry could hear the sound of water dripping somewhere.

"And what if I don't?" Voldemort hissed, amused.

"I'll make you. And one day, I swear, I'll kill you and if it's the last thing I do," she replied, her voice was shaking, but the reason for that might be that she was freezing. Although the nightgown was long, it was silken and didn't look like it would provide very much warmth.

"You cannot kill me just as easily. More and more of the wizarding world surrenders to me. They fight; they die—a lesson I had to teach you, too. Others hide from me. And now you're hiding too."

"I'm not hiding from you!"

Voldemort took several long strides towards her until he was standing merely a few feet away from her. She took a step back.

He chuckled. "See? And that when it's _only_ a dream. You're still the scared little girl you once were…" He caught her arm and drew her roughly towards him, clutching her throat in one of those long spidery hands that Harry knew quite well himself. "Still thinking you can kill me?" he hissed.

"Professor!" Harry couldn't merely watch any longer and jumped up and entered the chamber. Yes, it was indeed a chamber.

"Harry," Voldemort hissed and threw Professor Ravon, who had been busy prying his fingers away from her throat, away from him like a doll. Then he massaged his fingers—Professor Ravon seemed to be stronger than she looked—before he turned his attention to Harry. "You here, too? This is almost like meeting old friends, isn't it? The three of us united, what a coincidence."

"Harry, you shouldn't be here. Wake up!" the Professor shouted. She scrambled to her feet. "Wake up! Wake up! This is neither your dream nor mine. It's his. His dream, his rules. Wake up."

"Neither one of you can wake up until I let you—although it wasn't in my plans to have you here tonight, Harry—."

"Wake up!" the Professor shouted again, behind Voldemort's back reaching out with her hand so her palm faced Harry and muttering a spell that sent Harry backwards into the tunnel.

He felt himself slam against a surface and jerked awake, confused at what had happened. A dream, he remembered. And Voldemort had been in it, nothing new there. Professor Ravon had been there, too… What did she have to do with the Dark Lord? Strange. If only Harry remembered it more clearly. But with every second that went by, the images faded until only an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach remained—and a slight throb in the scar on his forehead.

**~*~*~**

Afternoon the next day, Sariss decided to take a walk around the grounds and noticed with delight that some team was practising Quidditch. Watching them practice might prove a distraction from some things that were going on in her mind.

As Sariss sat down in the empty stands, she noticed that it was the Gryffindor team. Harry Potter was down there. Harry, who had been in that strange dream she couldn't remember as clearly as she would have liked to. It had been different from her usual ones—save for the presence of the Dark Lord. He'd always been the ruler of her nightmares, her very own dream master.

However, she knew that the last dream had been different. Very much different—and it had seemed so clear. So real! Usually, they tended to be rather faint and she'd wake up without any lasting memory save from knowing it had been the same dream she'd always had. She didn't have to remember every single one. She simply knew by feeling that it had been _the one_ again. Not so this time. It had been more than disturbing. The dream in itself had been disturbing. But in addition to that, there had been something distinctly alarming when she'd looked into the mirror that morning. Her throat had looked as if fingers had squeezed and bruised the skin there… The traces were still visible. They were the reason why she'd donned on a robe with a sufficiently high collar. It hid them very well. So she wouldn't have to explain them. How to explain them to anyone else anyway when she couldn't even explain them to herself? Well, now she wouldn't have to.

However, the question remained: Had she done it herself, in her sleep, her panic having overpowered her? Or had it been…

How much of the dream could she conveniently file under 'Simply another nightmare starring him?'

She couldn't help but feeling a bit frightened of sleeping…

**Enough of this. You came out here to not reflect on that now.**

_Right. Quidditch practice. Let's see if they're as good as I've been told._

And they were really good, she perceived as a red-haired blur swished across the pitch and lobbed the Quaffle through the hoop another redhead had been supposed to guard—but had been pelted into by a Bludger before he could stop the girl from scoring. Red hair. Weasley. You had to be a Weasley if you wanted your hair to be that red—or try one of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes' latest invention: Ginny Gems.

There seemed to be always at least one Weasley on the Gryffindor team.

Ronald Weasley. She'd have a word with him about the essay he'd written about werewolves as soon as the practice session was over—that would be better than holding him up after class—which it was after another hour. 

Harry Potter, the Captain and Seeker, was having a few words with his team-mates afterwards, and then—the sun was already setting—they prepared to make their way back towards the castle.

Sariss waited for them to leave the pitch before she approached them.

"Mr Weasley, I'd like to have a word with you," she said, looking up into the boy's face. _Goodness, in class he doesn't look that tall at all. _

The intimidatingly tall boy looked almost frightened. Somehow, she was startled by that. "What? Now?" he stuttered and blushed.

"Yes," Sariss tried a smile, "it's about that werewolf-essay you wrote."

"So… what about it?" he said nervously.

"Don't worry. It was not bad. Seven out of ten—."

He breathed a sigh of relief.

"—but I'd like to see more of your knowledge which will require you to write a tad smaller than you write usually. You could easily get full marks on such topics if you did that. You have some quite interesting trains of thought… Well, you see, it's not merely twelve inches for nothing, is it?"

"Um… Okay."

"Good, since otherwise I'd have to make you write twice as much." Something occurred to Sariss. "And you might try to tell Miss Granger that it would save her much time if she only wrote twice as much as necessary and not four times as much."

That managed to magick a mischievous grin onto the boy's face. He nodded.

"Where is she, by the way? Rumour has it that she's your girlfriend?"

His face went almost as crimson as his hair. This was fun.

"She's in the library, studying, I s'pose."

"The library? I myself used to spend much more time there than was healthy. You might try to keep her from forgetting her friends over too many books sometime."

"Uh-huh."

"Alright then. I'm off. Don't forget what I said about the size of your letters. A tad smaller." She turned to go. "Oh and I must say that you're a fabulous Keeper, Mr Weasley. Too bad that I'm a Slytherin. Have a—."

"Ron, come on, what's keeping you so long?" Harry Potter's voice shouted from somewhere. Its owner came into view a few seconds later.

"Oh, good evening, Professor. You've been watching?"

"Good evening, Mr Potter. A great team you have there."

"Thank you, Professor." Potter didn't look half as uncomfortable as Weasley. That was a comfort. "Um, Ron, you coming?"

"What? Yeah, sure… If you're finished, Professor?"

Sariss nodded. "Now look at the time. Dinner must be served in a few minutes. We'd better hurry."

**~*~*~**

She greeted him with a neutral "Good evening, Professor Snape", when she took her seat next to him. 

"Good evening," he said in reply, glancing at her out of the corners of his eyes. He could see her profile. She didn't look at him; she didn't speak any further. Since she had apologized, she at least greeted him again. She also looked at him again. He never actually saw her look at him, but somehow he felt her gaze flicker over him sometimes—and then, as soon as he couldn't keep himself from checking any longer, she had looked away already. He must be imagining it—although Severus had always been very sensitive on that sector. He knew when he was being watched. He knew the feel of a pair of eyes staring at the back of his head. However, he'd grant himself the benefit of the doubt. After all, this feeling that she was watching him… Maybe it had something to do with the fact that his conscience after all kept nagging at him because he hadn't actually been receptive to her apology…

But it was a comfort that she spoke to him at all even though all he wanted was to indulge in a conversation with her. A conversation that would lead to another conversation and another and another until it, in turn, would lead to one that would only be interrupted by the occasional kiss…

**Yeah, right. Insert sound of someone snorting derisively here.**

By a kiss, as he'd seen in the Mirror of Erised. He couldn't stop imagining it, couldn't stop seeing it in his mind's eye. He felt if he were to concentrate hard enough on it, he could even feel it.

If she were capable of reading his thoughts, she'd be so not amused—or would she laugh at him contemptuously? He refused to imagine her that way. He rather pictured her blushing deeply crimson and smiling shyly or staring at him disbelievingly. He didn't dare imagine more than that.

If only she weren't such a shrew. He almost chuckled when his mind provided that expression. A shrew. How appropriate. He'd like to tame her. 

Tame… That brought another one of those long buried, long forgotten, evil memories to the surface. They always came when he thought about something pleasant. **_Bang!_** **Let me present to you: _This_.** Actually, it was one of his earliest—and one of his worst—memories… 

_'What's this bird for, Father?'_

_'It will deliver the mail.'_

_'But… What kind of bird is this? It looks dangerous… Is it a hawk? Or is it--.'_

_'A falcon. I shall inform your tutors to teach you about the different families of birds.'_

_'But--a falcon? _Owls_ are—'_

_'Do you think I don't know that?! I'm going to tame it. Everyone can have an owl. I want a falcon.'_

_'Why, Father?'_

_'Because I can afford it.'_

_'But it looks very wild to me…'_

_'One thing you have to learn for life, boy, is that you have to set yourself special tasks—even when life doesn't set them for you. I'm going to have it tame in no time. I will force it to obey.'_

_'How, Father?'_

_'Like everyone else.'_

Like everyone else. He had been right. Everyone.

Severus chanced a look at Sariss. Had she noticed his turmoil? Strange, how those long-gone things tended to surface sometimes. She seemed not to have sensed anything. Good. That meant Severus still had sufficiently cloaked his emotions. With her around you had to be very careful.

She seemed to be lost in thoughts herself. Did she have as many unpleasant memories as he had? Frankly, he didn't think so, although she might come close. Being an Auror wasn't pink clouds and candy, after all. And she had been an Auror for seven or eight years…

It was not a very pleasant memory, the way his father had tamed the falcon. Not pleasant at all. He refused to recall the details about the bird's so-called 'lessons'.

After a while, the bird had been too scared to disobey any longer. It had followed his every command. It had listened to no one else. Severus had been merely a child and had been frightened to death whenever the bird swept into the room, delivering the return letters to his father or mother.

Severus could hardly remember her. Only fragments. Little things. Details. He harboured them like jewels. She had died early. Indeed, she'd been slowly dying for years. Father had brought the best mediwizards to the castle to take care of her—although at that time, Severus hadn't known about that. A house-elf had constantly been by her side. She'd had the whole west-wing to herself. Severus's father had—at least to the boy's knowledge—not set foot there during the months she had been awaiting death. It was not likely that he had ever visited her there. Had Sinclair Snape ever loved her? Had Serena Carter-Snape ever loved her husband? Severus didn't know. Severus still had no idea what had made them marry each other. What had been their motives? Whose decision had it been? 

Severus had been visiting her every day, not knowing that she was virtually lying on her deathbed—even though she was walking around as if she were fine. But she hadn't been fine.

She had hidden it well. Her lips had always been of a healthy red; her pitch-black hair had always been shiny and beautiful. Her gentle grey eyes had always sparkled when he'd come to see her. 

Severus still remembered that he'd often bound her raven hair into thin and very long plaits. His small hands had so loved to play with her hair. And she'd always smiled a brilliant smile when he'd done that and kissed his cheeks or his forehead. She'd been the kindest and most beautiful being in the world. He'd loved her. He'd adored her.

And then, one day, she had been dead—Severus hadn't even seen her dead body—and he had found himself sitting in her empty bed, sobbing and clutching the cushion that still smelt like her, like a bouquet of flowers, when the falcon had swept in and landed on the foot of the bed, its sharp talons scratching over the wood. The six-year-old boy had stared at it, not daring to move for a long time until an equally scared house-elf had shooed it away.

Then his father had entered the room, the room he hadn't even come near for months, and ordered the house-elf to take his dead wife's belongings away. He'd found the sobbing child that was Severus, had looked at him coldly, slapped him across the face and told him to "stop crying immediately" because "Snapes do not shed tears." Severus had been too shocked to go on crying anyway.

The following months had been hard. Severus had no one to talk to anymore. Even though his mother had rarely spoken, she had at least listened. Sometimes she had even sung to him. He could still recall the sound of her voice. Always soft, always gentle. She had been somewhat of a sacred space to the lonely boy. The light that drove the shadow of his father away for a few hours. A more than welcome diversion from endless hours of being taught things that a boy his age shouldn't even have heard of. Among many other things, his father had been very skilled in the Dark Arts. 

Countless times, Severus had watched the night sky, wishing with all his heart that his father had been in his mother's place. Life would have been good if his father had died and his mother had lived. It certainly wouldn't have become such a mess. _He_ wouldn't have become such a mess. Maybe he wouldn't even have been a Slytherin. Maybe he'd have been a Ravenclaw instead, just like his mother? Most certainly he wouldn't have become a Death Eater. He wouldn't have projected his hatred for his father to other people. He wouldn't have become so many things if he'd never known his father.

It was an explanation. But it was no excuse.

Sinclair Snape was one of the main reasons why Severus's life had taken the turns it had. Because he'd tamed his son just as he had tamed the bird. Severus had once been good at obeying the Dark Lord, too…

But as to the falcon… The falcon had met a different fate.

It had always been there when the little boy that Severus had been was studying under the eyes of his father. And just like him, it had always watched its surroundings with its piercing black eyes, as if it were waiting for an unobserved moment to rise into the air again and take its vengeance out on Severus, furious that it couldn't hurt his father. Severus had always feared the bird for what its pointed beak and its sharp talons could do. His father had never even considered clipping them. He'd wanted the bird with all his weapons, which he would force it not to use. Severus had been frightened.

Only later had he realized that he and the bird had something in common. They both were bound to obey. They both obeyed for the same reasons. That had been the reason why Severus never liked seeing his father train the bird—and he had been forced to watch. It reminded him too much of himself—although the little boy Severus wouldn't have been able to express it like that.

Anyway, a falcon was not a suitable animal for doing those tasks, he'd realized. It was wild and wanted nothing more than freedom. It wanted to hunt. It didn't want to be domesticated.

Severus had then, one day—despite his fear—removed the charm that had kept the bird from escaping into the wilderness and tried to set it free. It had merely tilted its head and looked at him. Severus had prompted it to leave. It had refused.

That had established a bond between the bird and the boy. He had been careful not to let his father see him when he stroked the bird or fed it some treats he'd nicked from the kitchen. (His father had always disapproved of eating when it wasn't at mealtimes.) It had come to love him; Severus had even given it a name, which it hadn't had before. Sinclair Snape had always merely called it 'bird' or 'falcon' or 'you'. Severus had called it Falx, because its beak was shaped like a scythe. He had looked it up in a Latin dictionary and found it somewhere near 'Falco', the Latin name of the falcon. He'd thought it too obvious a choice and had then discovered 'Falx'. Nice and short.

And then (Severus had no idea how), his father had noticed something—and killed the bird. He'd killed it wordlessly, but not without throwing Severus a glance that said, "You triggered this. Had you not befriended it, it would still be alive." Yes, he'd wanted the bird to serve him, to obey. He'd wanted to exert power over it. He'd never wanted the bird to stay at Snape castle because it wanted to, because it had found an ally, a friend.

Why was it that Severus now remembered this? He had been hardly seven years old, but it seemed that this experience had shaped him more than anything else his father had ever done to him. Perhaps it had even made him who he was now.

For years, he hadn't thought about it. How come that it now surfaced? 

She'd made it surface. She'd made him remember. Indeed, she made him rethink his life. That must be why she managed to make him so angry. He realized that he was more like his father than he was comfortable with. Even though he had been dead for more than fifteen years by now, Severus had never really mourned him. He'd actually been indifferent to his death. He hadn't attended the funeral. When—or rather if—he visited the crypt, he did not even look at his father's coffin. But on his mother's coffin, he always placed a rose and a lily. Sometimes both white ones. Sometimes the rose was red. He realized that, for years, he hadn't been there to do that.

He hadn't set foot there for years. Just like his father hadn't set foot in the west-wing…

But he was not exactly like his father. He refused to be like him. Now more than ever before.

He wanted her, Sariss, yes. But not to obey. No, Severus wanted her to—

His mind tripped over the word.

He actually wanted her to… love… him.

**Next chapter:**

Sariss goes to pieces, Severus feels sorry, Sariss wishes Severus a happy birthday and teaches a bit of wandless magic. The first Quidditch match of the season, a few kind words and a tentative gesture.


	9. Broken Pieces

**Author's note:** My profoundest thanks go to—as always—my almost twin, my most loyal and exuberant reviewer and the fastest reader ff.net has ever seen: **Blaise**! BTW, as you like the flashbacks so much, there's a scene in this chapter you haven't seen before. Enjoy!

Chapter 8: Broken Pieces

**_… I'm busy mending broken  
Pieces of the life I had before_**

_—Muse: Unintended_

"Where is Sariss?" Severus asked the headmaster after breakfast. He tried to sound casual, as though the answer to that question didn't really matter to him. But it did.

Sariss hadn't turned up. That wouldn't have been much of a surprise if she hadn't started attending meals regularly again after they'd sort of sorted out their row. She wasn't speaking to him very much but it was a beginning. At least she had stopped carefully steering around him.

She hadn't been at breakfast; and she hadn't been sitting at the lakeshore, either—she liked it there; Severus had often seen her sit there, even when it was cold and raining—when he had overlooked the grounds from the top of the Astronomy Tower. It had become his favourite place to think, by now mostly about her. Inevitable, when you could see her hair fly all around her, her cloak catching the wind, when she made her way back up the gently sloping lawns towards the castle. He'd spent the early morning hours up there, watching as dawn crept over the mountains, when he couldn't sleep any longer. And then, sooner or later, she'd always come. He'd caught himself waiting for her to arrive and sit down near the shore or farther up on top of the cliff.

She had been there almost every weekend, Saturdays and Sundays, sometimes standing at the edge of the cliff in a way that he almost thought the late autumn or early winter wind would sweep her up and—. But it never had. It never would. For the sole reason that she didn't allow it. She stood there, firm as a rock and yet pliant, much as a willow in the storm would be.

And that very day, Severus had also been waiting for her to come—but she hadn't. He hadn't thought anything of it; she might have overslept. But when she hadn't been at breakfast…

"I haven't seen her, Severus," the old man replied. "Why? Is something wrong?"

"Probably nothing."

"You look pale. I take it you had to attend another meeting last night?"

"Yes."

"And?"

"I didn't want to disturb you. He called late and it went rather late, too—or perhaps I should say early. I didn't even bother to go to sleep…" Severus began. "His interest in her seems to grow beyond what's reasonable. In fact, I am sure—."

"Perhaps we should talk this over in my office," Dumbledore interrupted. "As it is, we can't trust anybody who might overhear what you're telling me. My office."

"Yes, sir."

A few minutes later, Severus was sitting on the one side of the headmaster's desk, while the older man stood and began feeding Fawkes, the phoenix. The bird's feathers glittered in all shades of red and gold. They reminded the Potions master of Sariss's hair. It, too, seemed to glitter in all shades, save that her tresses were brown and coppery-golden. The latter only when directly hit by bright sunlight. He wanted to see that hair, touch that hair, kiss that hair in any lighting. In the light of the fire when Sariss and he would be sitting at the fireplace, in the light of the fire that burnt beneath a cauldron when she'd come to him and—just like in the dream he'd by now grown accustomed to having from time to time—ask him to hurry because she wanted to be with him. He was imagining her hair by the light of the moon. It would be almost black when it slithered over her white and certainly very smooth and very soft skin; and Severus would play with it and brush it away so he could—. 

"Now, Severus, stop daydreaming and continue your report, please."

"Yes, headmaster, as I was saying," Severus said, blushing slightly because Dumbledore had caught him drifting away into thoughts that had better not be read, "he plans to go after her. However, there's something going on that I can't yet put my finger on. It's more like a feeling than fact. Secrecy. It's as if the Dark Lord were handing out very precise instructions."

"In what respect?" Dumbledore asked calmly.

"Difficult to explain. It's as if the right hand didn't know the instructions the left hand received. The oldest strategy there is, and quite effective. He's preparing something. I know it. He's done that before. He tells a few of us at a time what to do or where to be and none of the others must be told. We're working in independent groups. If one member is caught and spills the beans, he or she only endangers his or her cell."

"That's clever. We do the same."

"Yes. However, I have a bad feeling. Very bad. You should talk to her and remind her to be careful when she leaves the castle, perhaps not to leave it at all…"

"That is very vague."

"I'm sorry, but I can't enquire any further. I tried. I don't want to arouse any suspicions on account of appearing too curious instead of merely vaguely interested."

"I understand, Severus. If it is as you say—."

"Believe me, it is exactly as I am saying. Care for one of my suspicions?"

"Of course."

"He never stopped. He was merely biding his time. He'll strike. I know it. He hasn't told anyone yet, I'm fairly sure about that, since he'd boast with it—."

"Indeed," Dumbledore threw in.

"I don't know when it will be or where, but I'll be there when it happens. From the way he's speaking about her, he'll want everyone to be present if he gets hold of her alive. She's a marked woman."

"Are you sure you're not exaggerating?" Dumbledore asked tentatively, but his eyes had narrowed in suspicion, a sure sign that the old man's brain was processing the information and getting the answer Severus would give on its own. "Your thoughts are not clouded by—?"

"Definitely not," Snape interrupted sharply. "One has nothing to do with the other."

"Alright then, keep your eyes and ears open. Thank you, Severus. I am very grateful that you chose to bear the burden of serving the cause as you are. Never forget that, no matter what you do in his service, everything you do is for the Light side. And the Light always rewards its servants."

Severus didn't answer. He merely sat there, while the headmaster continued taking care of his pet.

"Is there anything else, Severus?"

"What? No. No, there isn't." He got up. "I should, maybe, go look for her… See if she's fine."

"Your concern might be completely unnecessary. Perhaps she's only visiting Hagrid. It has reached my ears that he wanted to introduce her to the unicorns he intends to show the students in his lessons later this year. Beautiful creatures. Kettleburn never let her near any of his creatures after he'd spent hours trying to calm down the Hippogriff. He never brought those beasts here again after that," Dumbledore mused. "So don't worry too much, Severus."

"How can you be so calm when they could already have caught her?"

"I think we'd know already about it if they had."

That was a logic Severus couldn't argue with. However, he'd prefer to know her safe inside the castle. He'd like to know where she was. 

"Excuse me," Severus said and turned to leave. The only thought on his mind was to know where she was and that she was unharmed.

First, he went back into the Great Hall. She wasn't there and hadn't been. Her plate and goblet were untouched. But Hagrid was there. So she hadn't been with him.

Then he went to her office. No one answered.

The same it was with her rooms—which he found at the second floor instead of the third. Those rooms must be among the ones that were moving more than was good for them. A quite annoying feature.

He even looked for her in the Owlery and then in the dungeons. She might have needed some kind of potion… But no one had been in any of the Potions dungeons since they had been used for a lesson.

Then he hurried up to the platform on top of the Astronomy Tower to see if she was somewhere on the grounds. It was a rather windy and very cloudy morning. It looked like it would be raining later that day.

And there was no sign of her to be seen. Her favourite places near the lake were still devoid of her presence. Had she gone off to Hogsmeade for some weird reason? She had been there only the day before. Severus had seen her there when she had been in the Three Broomsticks chatting with Hagrid. How he envied the gamekeeper for being able to get her to act so naturally around him. She had been visibly relaxed, so very unlike the way she acted around the Potions master…

Where was she?

Severus slowly made his way back down the staircases, intending to head back down into the Great Hall. There, he could wait for her to come back and check on her. However, as he approached the marble staircase, he could hear the unmistakable sound of the entrance doors being pushed open and then falling shut again.

She entered the castle, hair dishevelled as well as her robes, broomstick in hand.

"Miss Ravon!" Severus shouted down the marble staircase, his voice resounding in the Entrance Hall, as he rushed down the stairs towards her. "Where've you been?" he asked sharply, actually a bit too sharply, but the worry about her and the overwhelming relief that she was fine were swept away by some kind of fury that originated in the fact that she had unknowingly endangered herself and had neither an idea of that danger nor did she care that she'd driven Severus mad with concern about her whereabouts.

"First, don't Miss Ravon me. Second, it is none of your concern where I spend my days or nights or the time in-between for that matter," she said curtly and in a tone of voice that sounded as if she'd learnt it by heart and been made to repeat it a thousand times. While she spoke, she made to walk past him and leave him standing there like an idiot. Well, he would have felt like one at least. Why was it that, when she wasn't near, he kept having the most pleasant fantasies about her, and that, when she finally was near him, he simply couldn't manage to do or say—or even _feel_—anything that would not provide enough reason for her to… well… to do what she did?

He snatched her arm.

"You haven't even excused yourself from Dumbledore. No one knew where you'd gone. What if something happened to you? You would have broken his heart if something had happened. How heartless are you?"

"But _something_ didn't happen to me. I was completely safe all the time," she said turning her head so she presumably looked at his hand that was still clutching her robe. He could only imagine the glance she was giving this intrusion of her privacy, since her dark-auburn hair was so completely dishevelled and thus falling down all around her that he could only guess her expression. She must have flown past the wards at breakneck speed. They had meanwhile been extended to include Hogsmeade station. 

Severus relaxed the grasp he had on her and rested his hand on her elbow instead.

"And where is this oh so safe place?" He found he sounded like the sarcastic version of a jealous husband. He simply couldn't overcome this streak of his character. Much less when he desperately wanted to. She prevented it somehow. 

"Come on," she sighed. He imagined her rolling her eyes at him. "I'm merely a bit late for breakfast. I forgot the time when—." 

"When what?"

"I was visiting my friends," she said harshly. 

"You went away at the crack of dawn to go to see friends of yours? Who are they? Vampires that can't be visited when it's daytime?" He fought the urge of calling her a silly girl. But she had indeed no idea of the danger she might have been in. Whereas Severus had considerably more than just a vague idea, she had none at all, because she couldn't know. Severus needed to remind himself of that. She was not foolish; she merely didn't know the danger. And she mustn't know the full extent of that danger or else she'd change back into that scared little girl Dumbledore had brought to stay at Hogwarts a very long time ago. Severus didn't want that scared little girl; he wanted this fiery and fierce woman standing not two feet away from him.

"They…" she began, but broke off, shaking her head. 

Severus tried to catch her gaze and realized that her eyes were red and swollen—she must have been crying—and that she was on the verge of doing so again. Her eyes were much too bright.

"Where have you been?" Severus asked much more gently than before.

"None. Of. Your. Business," she repeated shakily.

"Mi—Professor Ravon, you must be more careful. I don't think I have to remind you that these are dangerous times," Severus said. "You're not invincible. You cannot simply run off to visit someone who lets you leave in a state like—."

He saw her trying to blink back the tears. She was not completely successful as her eyes overflowed nonetheless. She didn't even move to wipe the tears away. How used did you have to get to the sensation of tears running down your cheeks that you didn't get the urge to wipe them away to put an end to that annoyingly prickling and stinging sensation?

"It's not the first time you've been there, is it?" he chanced. It was cruel of him to use the state she was in to his advantage. She was vulnerable and he used it for the purpose of getting information from her.

"Every Saturday morning," she admitted softly. "Sometimes more often." He hadn't really expected her to answer.

"Why do you go visit those _friends_ when they—," he hesitated. Would it be too insensitive if he told her straight out that he'd noticed her tears despite her considerable efforts to hide them? "—when visiting them leaves you devastated?" 

She didn't answer. She merely sniffed softly.

He wanted nothing more than to draw her into his arms and comfort her. He found he liked it better when she was angry and inaccessible than when she was vulnerable, an all too easy prey, too easily hurt. He didn't want that.

"What have they done to you?" he asked very softly. He suddenly didn't trust his voice. "Where've you been?"

"For heaven's sake!" she merely croaked—although he could see that she wanted to scream—her voice full of tears. "If you must know, I was at Rick and Rory's grave! Happy now?"

She briskly shoved him away from her and dashed up the staircase; a small sob escaped her when she stumbled over the topmost step. But she caught herself and ran on, regardless of the Potions master who was staring after her, in shock and terribly sorry that, when he'd merely wanted to display his concern, he'd instead caused a scene like the one he'd just been part of.

There had been a time when he'd have loved to see her cry like that, run out of the room like she just had. However, that time was long gone. Now he merely wanted to make her smile. He'd never managed to make her smile. Had he ever made someone smile? 

It seemed that all Severus was capable of was hurting other people. And why not? He was good at hurting, so he should be a master of making others feel the same way.

But he hadn't wanted this. 

Everything was so wrong. The Fates seemed to be constantly plotting against him, twisting and turning his intentions until the result was tears and death.

Severus suddenly wished he were a Gryffindor. That way, he'd at least have the guts to walk straight into her room and say that he was sorry, that it had come out completely wrong. That he had merely been concerned about her safety. That he wanted to make it undone. That he wanted to try and be everything she'd want him to be.

But he couldn't. He couldn't even say sorry, no matter how sorry he was. Those words had lost their meaning to him. They didn't make anything undone. They were empty. 

_I'm sorry…_

They were useless.__

**~*~*~**

Sariss ran into her chambers as fast as her feet would carry her there, as fast as her blurred vision would allow, glad that no one else had been there to witness the display of her inability to cope with the loss of her friends.

In mid-stride, she dropped the broomstick and her cloak right in the middle of her study and proceeded into the bedroom where she threw herself onto the four-poster, curled up in a ball and cried like a little lost girl, hating herself with every fibre of her being for doing what she did, for having said what she had said, for not having had the guts to shove Snape out of the way in the first place. But they had only made up a few weeks ago, hadn't they? Well, at least sort of. She couldn't simply give him another reason to be mad at her. It had been bad enough the first time. The way she saw the whole affair at the moment, as she lay on the bed, clutching the pillow and sobbing miserably, she felt that everything was her fault and her fault alone. If only she had died alongside her mother. She would have been spared so much…

She wouldn't have had to cope with what had happened as soon as her mother's dead body had hit the ground, not with what had happened to Rick and Rory… There was so much more that she couldn't put in words.

And now she could add everything related to Snape to that list.

Trust Snape to find exactly the words that would make her act the way she had. Trust him to not stop bothering her until the truth about her weakness, her incapacity to cope with something as simple as loss, had spilt right out of her tearstained mouth.

She had so desperately tried not to cry. Not when he had been standing less than a yard away from her. She had hoped she could wriggle out of everything by—at least to her recent standards—diplomatically telling him to get lost. But he had refused. And he'd sounded so gentle all of a sudden, so genuinely concerned…

Why did he have to be the first person she'd come across on re-entering the castle? Any other teacher or even student and none of what had occurred would have happened.

And Snape, for reasons that were beyond her, save that they had to do with his mere presence, had been exactly the way she hadn't needed him to be. The wall he usually guarded his feelings with had somewhat flickered and made her catch glimpses of some sort of inner turmoil, a multitude of swirling emotions that had dreaded to grab hold of her, before it became solid again, the emotions again guarded carefully…

Sariss found she'd have liked it better if he had continued to scold and yell at her, if he told her that she was a foolish person to travel across half of Britain to say good-bye over and over again. 

'You're not invincible.'

_You've never said something that was truer than that. I'm not unbreakable, but that you need not know. _

**Never let them see you bleed.**

'What if something happened to you?'

_Well, then it would have happened._

**What if they'd caught you by mere chance and killed you?**

_I don't care about ifs. Unfortunately, I seem to always wriggle out of it somehow—unlike others. And now Snape knows my weaknesses. If only he had made me angrier, if only he had been… different._

But the way it had been…

She hated him for making her feel so helpless. If he'd kept up being the git she had become used to, she could have been properly mad at him. But the way it was now, she merely felt ashamed that she had lost her composure. If she'd merely lost control and made something break again, she could have taken it. But no. Not this time. She felt ashamed. Terribly ashamed.

He mustn't tell Dumbledore. He mustn't know. The man had enough on his mind already what with the recent Death Eater activities the _Daily Prophet_ was filled with day after day was not in the least unheard of. Dumbledore had more important things to take care of. Sariss knew he was one of the key figures in the war. Without him, Voldemort would have taken over already, Sariss was sure. Dumbledore was the only one the wizarding world needed to rely on. His mere presence was enough to strike fear into the heart of any Dark wizard and light a small candle of hope in every good witch's or wizard's soul.

He couldn't be bothered with such minor matters as another small breakdown of Sariss's. She'd already bothered him enough to last him—and herself—a lifetime.

As she lay there on the bed, sobbing all her misery and sadness into the pillow, she wished for nothing more than to be dead. She wished that what Snape had so obviously been dreading had happened…

But somehow, she would have to live and ask Snape not to involve the headmaster in these minor matters. The thought of herself standing on one side of his desk with him staring at her from across piles of essays and glasses of indefinable content was humiliating. She could only guess how bad it would be as soon as she did it in reality… Would he taunt her? Or worse, would he be so gentle again?

_Tomorrow. Let's put it off till tomorrow. Thank the gods that it's Sunday._

She could not possibly go down to breakfast now. She'd certainly see him there. The next time she'd see him, it had to be alone with him, no matter how much the thought scared her. Why did any encounter with him always end bad unless she quickly disappeared when he entered a room?

No. Not today. She didn't want to see anyone today.

Not a single living soul.

**~*~*~**

There was a knock at the door. A very tentative knock.

"Enter," Severus muttered irritably. Despite the fact that it was his birthday, he didn't feel particularly cheerful. And why should he? He had been sitting in his office since three in the morning because he couldn't sleep if his life depended on it, grading essays for the sole purpose of driving _her_ out of his mind. He hadn't seen her since that cursed incident the day before. He tried not to think about anything related to her. As could have been expected, he had been not entirely successful.

The door opened and his visitor shuffled inside with light steps and closed the office door. 

Severus didn't even look up.

"What is it?" he snapped, expecting some annoying student who hadn't managed to finish his or her homework or wanted to ask him something about Merlin knew what. Or a first-year having gotten lost…

Whoever it was, they said nothing.

Severus made the flourish of his signature under the essay he had just finished grading.

"Professor Snape…" came a soft and melodious voice.

He almost dropped the quill.

"Sa—Miss Ravon? What are you doing here?" he said the first thing that his mind would provide.

"There's something I need to talk about with you," she said cautiously.

"And what?" he prompted, gesturing for her to sit down. She didn't. 

**Why should she? The last time she sat there… Do I need to go on?**

"About yesterday." She fidgeted. "Have you, by any chance, spoken with the headmaster?"

**~*~**

_"Have you found her, Severus?"_

_"Yes."_

_"Is she alright?"_

_"She's alive."_

_"Severus—."_

_"Later, headmaster. Tomorrow, if you don't mind. Now is not a good moment for this. I must leave."_

_"I understand."_

**~*~**

"Not yet." _But I think I really should._ "Why?"

She visibly breathed a sigh of relief, but sobered quickly again. "Then… then I must ask a… favour of you."

"What kind of favour?" 

**Yes, indeed, what kind of favour? **

_If it's in my power, I'll do it._

"Please do not mention my—." She hesitated. "_Breakdown_—," she all but spat the word, "—to him."

**Ashamed to admit that you're not made of stone after all, are you?**

_Are you asking her or me?_

**Actually…**

"Why not? He ought to know. He cares very much about you." _As do I._

"I don't want him to worry about me." Her voice had become considerably steadier and more normal than before. "He has more important matters on his mind."

_But I don't. As if I could think of anything but you. If only you'd leave my mind._

When he didn't answer, she, if only for a second, glanced at him, and he nodded. She nodded in return and quickly looked away again. Although Severus didn't quite understand why she wanted her grief to be kept from the headmaster, he felt it would be good to heed to her wishes. She'd actually asked a favour of him. She'd come to him and asked him to do something for her despite the problems and misunderstandings between them. 

"Thank you, Professor," she said and turned to leave again.

"Wait!" said Severus, remembering something.

"What's wrong?" she asked with her back to him. "I didn't—."

"I'll do you this favour, but in return, you must promise to do something for me."

"And what is that?" she asked suspiciously.

**Not what you might think.**

_Tell me you don't hold a grudge against me any longer. And if you still do, tell me how to even it out. Sit down and speak to me about anything but the Dark Lord and what evil the future might have in store for you, for me, (for us!) on account of him._

"Let the headmaster know where you're going when you leave the grounds. Or tell Hagrid. Or leave a note. Anything. You can't have any idea how dangerous your little journeys could prove to be," Severus said. She'd turned around to face him. "Do it for Dumbledore," he added softly but insistently. _If not for me._

For a moment, she merely stared at him—or he thought so, since he had lowered his eyes to the quill, which he had been clutching in his hand all the time. A blotch of ink was spreading over the desk. Fortunately, he hadn't stained the essays. He only hoped she hadn't noticed. Or did he rather hope she _had_ noticed? It was difficult to tell what Severus was hoping for when she was near.

"Okay," she nodded her consent. "All right." She sounded surprised, however pleasantly.

**Well, she should be.**

"Is there anything else?" she asked.

"No." _Yes, and much more than I thought at first._ "That will be all." __

"Well, I think I had better go then," she said nervously. "Now that we finally sorted out this abysmal start we had, I'd better leave quickly before my temper gets the upper hand again."

"Yes." _No, please stay. You don't have to talk to me. Just be with me without one of us shouting or crying for a change. I could get used to that. But as to your temper… Somehow, I'd love it to get the better of you…_

She turned the door handle and made to leave when her gaze fell onto the calendar that was hanging next to the door. "Oh, and happy birthday, Professor Snape," she gave him a shy smile over her shoulder. "Thanks again." And out she went; the door fell shut after her.

"No, thank _you_. Any time," Severus muttered. "Any time."

_She knows my date of birth._

**You haven't written something like 'My friggin' birthday' on today's date, have you?**

_No. She simply knows. This might not be another ordinary day after all… And she actually smiled._

**Oh, come on. It wasn't much more than a twitch of the corners of her mouth.**

_But it was directed at me, no matter what it was. It was the closest thing to a smile I ever got from her._

Severus chanced a look at the clock and found that it was just about time for breakfast. He felt almost cheerful when he cast an Erasing Charm on the ink blotch on his desk and realized the prospect of breakfast was suddenly looking very much nicer.

"Happy birthday, Severus Snape," he muttered under his breath. "You've been presented with a smile."

**Aren't you going to see the headmaster first?**

_Yes, of course._

**She asked you not to tell him—**

_I won't. I'll merely tell him where she was, what she's been doing. I'm not going to betray her trust. She might expect me to do just that, but I won't._

**~*~*~**

"Put away your books," Professor Ravon said cheerfully when she swept into the room. "Today's a very special lesson. We'll do something we've never done before—at least not consciously. Wandless magic."

Wandless magic. Dumbledore did it all the time, Harry remembered. It would be cool to be able to do that too.

"Remember when you were children, when you didn't even know that you were magical? Perhaps the Muggle-borns among you rather remember what it was like to make things change shape, disappear or move unwillingly…" She looked around. "The point is, you did this completely by accident, without a wand or any other magical object that would have allowed you to do these things. You weren't even concentrating on making them happen. Now, imagine what would be possible if you could do magic with a wave of your _hand_ instead of your wand! As soon as your opponent disarms you, you're helpless. When you can do wandless magic consciously, a simple _Accio, wand!_ would make it soar back into your outstretched hand! And the more talented among you won't even need to summon their wands. They'd be able to perform the more simple sorts of spells without it—although this requires a great deal of concentration."

She spoke in a tone of voice that hinted she was still fascinated with that idea—and that fascination could almost be called contagious. The students were paying close attention to her words, scribbling down notes on their parchments furiously.

Indeed, she seemed to be much more cheerful than ever before. Her eyes didn't seem as sad as usual, the smile a little more present than it was known to be.

She continued. "All of us, all of you, have it in them. We all can do it—some more, some less. But every single one of you has the ability; even those who may not do so well with a wand. It's not important. Your talents might be hidden in the sector of wandless magic. Muggles would call it PSI-Factor, Telekinesis or simply: psychic powers. Even they—if only very few of them—are able to use that power. Well, if _they_ can, why shouldn't _you—_magical as you are—be able to perform some of it?"

She paused for a moment and leaned against her desk again, the way she always did.

"By developing your psychic powers, hidden as they are, you could reach stages in which you would be able to communicate by telepathy. This has happened before. In extreme circumstances people closely connected to the one suffering or experiencing a traumatic event felt what the respective person felt or could even reply if the connection was strong enough. Often this happens accidentally, even though the person who does it has never known that they were capable of doing this and had no idea what happened to them at that moment."

She bent down and picked up a small box that had been sitting next to the desk. A small unobtrusive box.

She opened it. There was a whole bunch of white fluffy feathers inside. "Professor Flitwick was kind enough to lend me these. Very light. By the end of this lesson, you should be able to make them come to you. Then we can proceed to larger objects—although size doesn't matter in here. You'll see."

Ron snorted softly. Indeed, most of the people present sniggered a bit, whereas the Professor was completely serious, as if the words held no double meaning for her. However, as she handed out the feathers—one to each student—Harry saw a little dimple in her cheek. She must have realized what she'd said when it had had its effect on the students.

"Alright. Now close your eyes—and no cheating. It'll do you no good. Imagine the feather with your Inner Eye."

Harry felt as though he were having Divination in a room, which was hot, but not as terribly stifling as North Tower.

"Can you picture it? Can you see it hover? Imagine it to hover," she whispered. "Then reach out with your wand hand—it might give you more confidence to use that hand instead of the other one—yes, that's very good. You must be a natural, Mr Longbottom."

Neville let out a gasp and Harry opened his eyes to look why that was so. Harry's feather floated back down. He hadn't even noticed that it had actually hovered.

"Careful," Professor Ravon said. "Keep up the concentration, Mr Longbottom. Make the feather move to the left a bit. Concentrate everyone."

It seemed to be a miracle. It was a rare occasion that Neville managed to do magic properly _with_ a wand. Harry shuddered inwardly at the results of Neville's transfiguration projects. But this was entirely different. It looked so easy as Harry watched the other boy sitting behind his desk, wand hand pointing at the feather… and the feather moved everywhere he willed it. Neville smiled with his eyes closed. And Professor Ravon positively beamed down at him. 

Harry concentrated on his own feather. But he wanted to see it being lifted. Thus, he squinted a bit as soon as he thought it was hovering. The feather shuddered as he moved his hand closer towards it. _Get up! Rise! Fly!_ Harry mentally prompted it.

"Ten points. Very well done, Neville," he heard Professor Ravon's strangely distant voice say. It was as if only Harry and the feather existed. 

He willed it to rise higher to move in ever expanding circles.

"Wonderful! This is getting better and better. Good work there, Mr Zabini. And Messrs Potter and Weasley managed it, too… Just a little more effort, Miss Granger… Yes, now you've got it. Careful there…"

She went on about in the same fashion for another few minutes, here and there giving a bit of advice, awarding points, and—from the way her voice sounded—exultant about the talent some of her students possessed. However, Crabbe and Goyle had _slight_ difficulties. But Harry didn't pay any attention to them. He, Ron and Hermione had invented some sort of game. They let their feathers circle each other, trying not to accidentally make them collide. It was a straining thing, but also very much fun.

After a while, Harry heard Professor Ravon's voice ask drawlingly and amusedly, "Enjoying that little game of yours, Miss and Messrs?"

All three of them jumped slightly, startled, as they had been deep in concentration. The feathers floundered towards the ground, but they never touched it. They came flying right into the Professor's hand. She put them back into the box.

"I didn't want to disturb you," she said with a smile. "But the lesson is over. As I've already said, there will be no homework. I'd merely like you to practise a bit. You might want to try to lift quills or parchment or the like with your mind. I think you're ready for something that you're used to being a bit heavier and seemingly harder to control. By the way, next lesson I'm going to make you lift your books." She winked. "So just you know."

They scrambled to get their bags as the chuckling Professor locked the box with the feathers in her desk. Then they muttered quick good-byes and went on their way to their next lessons.

"Books? I'll never be able to lift a book!" Ron exclaimed. "It was straining enough to lift that feather. But a book is an entirely different matter. What will be next? A desk, a carriage, other people?"

**~*~*~**

Sariss couldn't help but chuckle when she heard Ron Weasley's voice. The boy would learn that magic was always about mind over matter. It was easier for Muggle-borns or those who hadn't had too much contact with magic before Hogwarts because they were fascinated by the power mere words could have… Well, in Sariss's case, words weren't necessary…

**~*~**

_"Look at that! The schedule for this term says we're going to be duelling for the next few DADA lessons!" Aurora exclaimed. The fifteen-year-old girl beamed at Sariss and Rick who had been bent over a cauldron. "The whole DADA stuff can get lost for as much as I care. But duelling… I just love that!"_

_"Watch it, Rick! Careful there. You must add them one by one—."_

_"I'll never gonna get that right, Sariss. Professor Snape will have my head if I cause another one of what he refers to as 'remarkably stupid accidents'. The way he says_ remarkably _and_ accident _makes me feel like such an idiot."_

_"But it was an accident. You were just a bit… er… lost in your thoughts," Sariss said, actually meaning 'You were too busy staring at Aurora to pay attention to what you were throwing into the cauldron.' But that she didn't say. "There, that's it. Finished."_

_"Already? That wasn't so hard after all." Sariss and Rick quickly cleared the table._

_"Told you."_

_"I hate to interrupt you, but the free period is almost over and we really have to hurry to not be late for our duelling lessons. I so love duelling!" Rory was exuberant. "Think Professor Steele will let us duel our own house? I'd like to give that Malfoy bastard—."_

_"Rory, we're going to be late. Stop babbling already and come." Sariss pulled out her wand and Summoned her own and Rick's bags. _

_The three of them hurried out of the Slytherin common room, along the corridor, up the staircase and right into the Great Hall. The furniture—meaning the benches and tables—had been moved apart and redecorated. Each one of them was to be a duelling arena. _

_"Come closer." Professor Steele shouted from among a throng of students. He was standing on one of the tables. "Good, everybody here? Very good. As you've already learnt the basic and some pretty advanced spells last year we may start having fun immediately. Now you may ask a fellow student to duel you. We'll keep tabs on your performance. And I'll have an eye on you from here. Madam Pomfrey has been kind enough to grant us with her precious presence," Professor Steele smiled at the nurse, "although I dearly hope that none of you is going to actually need her treatment. And now…"_

_"I challenge you, Ravon," Seth Malfoy stepped up to Sariss. "This will be pure pleasure for me."_

_"I fear the pleasure will be entirely mine," she answered coldly and slipped the wand out of her sleeve. "Shall we?"_

_"I've been waiting for this a very long time. They'll send you up into the hospital wing in a fruit bowl. You'll be goo once I'm finished with you."_

_"Resorting to empty threats, Malfoy?" Sariss said, clambering up onto the table and walking into the middle._

_Malfoy and Sariss performed the standard greeting gestures, turned their backs to each other and began to count their steps._

_"Eleven… Twelve…" Sariss muttered and turned around. Too late._

_Malfoy had already shouted "Waddiwasi!" and sent a large vase at Sariss. It crashed into her before she could react and sent her flying to the far end. _

Cheating bastard.

_Sariss unceremoniously slid to a halt, gathered herself up, jumped to her feet, aimed in mid-movement and muttered "Mimblewimble!" It soared towards Malfoy faster than light and hit him straight into the chest—but he seemed unaffected. Malfoy grinned, starting on another incantation—but he couldn't get it out because of the Stuttering Spell. It backfired spectacularly and sent him flying and crashing down the same way he'd done it to Sariss before._

_"Detrimentia!" Malfoy finally managed to get out. Sariss dodged the spell and sent her version of it his way. It only brushed his arm lightly but sent him a few yards backwards. He sat on the table and cradled his hurting arm. The pain would pass. The spell didn't inflict the wounds on the body of the wizard or witch. It just hurt a bit._

_Rick and Rory who had been watching cheered like crazy. "He couldn't see that one coming!" Rick shouted._

_"Good one, girl!" Aurora exclaimed, giving Sariss the thumbs-up. Sariss grinned at them and bowed, not realizing that Malfoy had jumped to his feet again. _

_"Expelliarmus!"_

_The spell's hit came as a complete surprise to Sariss. Her wand was ripped from her little hand and disappeared to… somewhere… and Sariss went flying backwards again… _

_No, the wand hadn't disappeared. Malfoy had caught it. Sariss saw it when she looked up. Malfoy was standing over her, pointing his wand at her._

_"Fine, Malfoy. You win. Happy?" Sariss said._

_"The hell no one's gonna need Madam Pomfrey's treatment," he said softly, pronouncing each syllable with deadly precision. "I already have a candidate. You." He smirked maliciously. "Well, what am I going to do to you? Ah, yes. Chloe is going to kiss my feet for that one. Furnunculus!"_

_Sariss stared at him, stared at his wand, stared at her wand in his hand, stared at the dirty green colour of the spell as it began to emanate from the wand's tip…_

_She didn't know what to do. All she could do was to lift her hands to shield her face from Malfoy's spell. She'd not provide Slytherin House's gossip for the next few weeks. 'Have you seen Ravon? Are the boils getting smaller already?' No, she wouldn't. She crossed her arms in front of her face, huddled into a strangely cowering position for as much as she could tell, and—lacking any better ideas—shrilly cried "Noooo!" before she screwed her eyes shut._

_The spell never came. When Sariss opened her eyes, she could see Malfoy crash onto the surface of the table._

_Sariss exchanged a confused look with Aurora and Rick and found that they were both pleasantly surprised and very much in awe. "Wow…" Rick mouthed._

_"What happened?" Sariss whispered to herself and went to pick Malfoy up—or not._

_"Give me back my wand," Sariss said, breathing hard, and held out her hand. "My wand, Malfoy! Give me my wand!"_

_And—as if out of its own volition—it slipped out of Malfoy's still firm grasp and leapt right into Sariss's outstretched hand._

_"Why didn't you tell us that you could do wandless magic?" asked Rick who had run towards her, Rory following at his heels._

_"I didn't know," Sariss whispered._

_"This is cheating!" Malfoy complained, moaning exaggeratedly when he got up. "It's not fair."_

_"Life's generally not fair," Sariss spat and looked up into his cold silvery eyes. She felt so small and scrawny compared to Malfoy. The boy was almost a head taller than her. He was almost as tall as Professor Dumbledore or Snape. But then again, he was almost a year older than Sariss. Apparently, she was a bit late when it came to growing. "Everyone sooner or later gets what they deserve. About time you learnt that, too, Malfoy. Just so you know, I had no idea. You just be glad that you weren't hit by your own spell. I hear Furnunculus isn't pretty to look at."_

_He stepped back and raised his wand to the level of his eyes. "One day I'll get you."_

_"I'm waiting." Sariss mimicked his action, and they both performed the traditional greeting. _

_Then Malfoy went away, his pride more hurt than his body._

_"How did you do that?" asked Rory, her eyes very round._

_"I don't know… But I'd better see Dumbledore on that matter…"_

_"We're coming with you," Aurora said._

_"As eye-witnesses," Rick added. "Gotta convince him you're not imagining things. Wandless magic in a fifteen-year-old. That's wickedly impressive. So cool…"_

**~*~**

Sariss held the remaining lessons for the day and then went to attend dinner. 

Snape, for one, wasn't attending dinner that day.

**~*~*~**

"Welcome to the first Quidditch game of the season!" shouted Hufflepuff commentator Owen Cauldwell. He had taken over from Lee Jordan when the latter had graduated, and still needed practice. But he had been doing quite well the year before already. "Today it's Ravenclaw versus Slytherin! Ravenclaw have a new Seeker, as top-Seeker Cho Chang graduated at the end of last year. It's up to third-year Ewan Dane to catch the Snitch for his house-team. And there they come. Terry Boot, Captain and Keeper, Turpin and Ackerley, Beaters. Fawcett, Quirke and Weinberg, Chasers. And, of course, young Ewan Dane!"

Harry sat down among his team. They had come to watch, although they wouldn't play against either one of those teams before the Christmas holidays had come and gone. It was good to see their opponents in action before facing them themselves. Otherwise, Harry would've preferred staying inside—well, that wouldn't have been possible as the practice schedule he'd set his team didn't allow it. The spirit of Oliver Wood seemed to be still present in the locker rooms—if that was possible for a living person. 

A slight drizzle was coming down from the cloudy, greyish sky, slowly drenching their robes.

"And there are the Slytherins. Crabbe, Goyle, Miles, Pritchard, Yagher, Hayes and Malfoy." Remarkable, how Cauldwell could sound like Lee Jordan when he spoke of the Slytherins.

The stands of the other houses were also crowded with people. It was the first match of the season after all. Everyone seemed to be starved for Quidditch.

When Madam Hooch blew the whistle, the players rose in the air and the game began.

Frankly, Harry agreed with Cauldwell when he said that the Ravenclaws didn't stand a chance against the Slytherins, as became obvious after merely a few minutes of playing. 

Lucius Malfoy had once more opened his immense wallet and provided the Slytherins with top-of-the-range broomsticks. Seven Firebolts II. And that when Harry had always believed in not buying anything Malfoy thought was good.

Anyway, their broomsticks outstripped the Ravenclaws' by miles. Not that Harry would trust Dane to catch the Snitch before Malfoy did, anyway. It was fairly obvious that he was much more nervous than was good for him. His first real Quidditch game. Harry remembered that his own first game had felt not so good—until he'd been high up in the air. Dane's nervousness didn't dissolve that easily.

_Well, he's no Cho Chang. Cho would've spotted the Snitch by now and be tearing after it…_

The Snitch was hovering slightly to the left of the Ravenclaw goalposts—and none of the Seekers saw it. Indeed, no one seemed to be aware of it but Harry.

The reason for that might have been that the Slytherins complained loudly that Weinberg had deliberately cobbed Yagher and the teams were discussing the matter with Madam Hooch…

**~*~*~**

Severus sat down among his students. The game had just started and the commentator droned on and on. He drew his cloak tighter around him. This weather did not agree with him at all. It was wet. He'd be soaked within a couple of minutes if that cursed rain didn't stop.

"Professor Snape? I assume this seat is not taken yet?" Sariss asked. She had crept so silently towards him that he hadn't even noticed her approaching.

"No, 'course not. Sit down."

_I think I don't care about getting drenched and catching a cold anymore._

"Thank you." She sat down right next to him, so close that their elbows were touching. Severus would have loved it if she'd moved a bit closer. He would have loved to put his arm around her, perhaps to protect her from the cold—which didn't bother her at all—perhaps to simply draw her closer… "Exciting, isn't it? My first Quidditch game in years, well, at least when off duty. It's much more enjoyable when you don't have to keep up 'constant vigilance'."

"Constant vigilance, huh? Been too much around Moody?"

"He does have a point. But he's been overdoing it a little. His paranoia led him straight to the bottom of his trunk," she said dryly. "Oh! That must've hurt big time." She winced when one of the Ravenclaw players was slammed into by a Bludger that had been sent his way by Vincent Crabbe.

The game went on. Slytherin were clearly the better team. It was awfully obvious. 

They might as well go back inside and wait for the students to come back inside, too.

"And Slytherin scores again," the commentator droned on. "The score's eighty to ten for Slytherin. If only Dane would catch the Snitch soon—Yes, Professor, I am trying to commentate in an unbiased way…"

Sariss stood up and leaned over the balustrade to get a better view of the far goalposts where most of the players had dashed. Her robes were soaked already, as was her hair. Oh, but the clothes that were clinging to her body now revealed her narrow waist and gently curved hips much more clearly than he'd ever seen her figure before. He'd love to put his hands around that waist one day and draw her near…

She returned to her seat when the green and blue swishes that were the players came soaring back to the centre of the pitch.

"Ghastly weather," Severus heard her mutter and curse under her breath.

**She does have a way with words, you know?**

Severus paid hardly any attention to the game, from time to time catching a piece of commentary about what the score was. But other than that, he was much too busy watching her out of the corners of his eyes. It was a pity that it was such a cloudy day. The sun would have made her hair glow and sparkle; it would have made her hair frame her face in gentle waves instead of smoothed out lank strands that clung to her skin. The breeze would blow it into all directions if it weren't so heavy with water…

"That's cheating!" she shouted, scandalized, at one point and, a few minutes later, jumped up when a Ravenclaw Chaser had cobbed a Slytherin one. "That was deliberate! Penalty shot!" she demanded.

"Temper getting the upper hand?" Severus asked fairly amused when she grudgingly sat back down and crossed her arms in front of herself. Madam Hooch hadn't awarded Slytherin the desired penalty shot.

"What? No. I just felt like participating in the general discussion about Quidditch tactics," she smirked. 

It was incredible how different she was now. It must have something to do with the Quidditch game. The general happy excitement that the Quidditch season had started must have something to do with it. Roundabout everyone was cheering and spurring on the teams. Apparently, it didn't matter to her that three quarters of the crowd were supporting the Ravenclaws. It didn't matter where the positive feelings came from. She sensed them and visibly enjoyed being where she was—which happened to be right beside Severus.

Severus, in turn, paid lesser and lesser attention to the game the longer it went. No, the only things he could pay any attention to were the way her eyes seemed to sparkle when something exciting happened down at the pitch; the way she smiled, much more of her pearly white teeth visible than he'd ever seen before. She was like a child in a toyshop. 

Somehow, Severus envied her for being capable of being so carefree in the middle of the mess the wizarding world had become, even if her care-freeness only extended from the first blow of Madam Hooch's whistle to the catching of the Golden Snitch.

Severus completely forgot that it was raining and hardly noticed when Slytherin won the game.

He couldn't seem to care about another victory of the Slytherin team. He expected his house to win. Always. However, it was nothing special to him.

But she was.

And as the meanwhile thoroughly soaked students left the stands and went back up into the castle, the smile left her face and the glow disappeared from her eyes, much in the same way as the stands emptied.

Severus trailed after her, also heading back inside the castle, wishing that new side of her—the happy and kind and carefree side—to come back and stay.

**~*~*~******

It was two in the morning and Severus couldn't sleep. He wasn't even tired. Not in the slightest. It was a pity since he could have slept in. The Christmas holidays would start tomorrow—no, today—and Severus would have been grateful for a good night's sleep. The Dark Lord had called much too frequently during the previous weeks. Everything seemed to be wearing much more than usual on Severus, not letting him fall asleep so he could stop worrying and simply forget…

Groaning and grunting he turned from one side to the other, rolled over and back again, punched the pillow into a more comfortable shape and turned the blanket over and so on and so on. It was no use. He was wide-awake and it wasn't even close to dawn. 

With a heavy sigh, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed, got up and dressed. If he couldn't sleep, he'd at least do something useful. He should check the inventory of—Wait a second. Since when did he need a reason for being up and prowling around the castle at night? He'd simply while away the rest of the night. Perhaps he could go up to the Astronomy Tower? Oh, if only it weren't so ghastly cold outside. Christmas was approaching fast and snow covered everything from the frozen surface of the lake to the windowsills and rooftops of the castle.

Nonetheless, perhaps the cold might make him tired. He left his chambers and walked in direction of the Entrance Hall when he saw light in the dungeon adjacent to his office…

Severus managed to open the door almost soundlessly. However, his footsteps were clearly audible over the soft sizzling noise of a cauldron fire and the equally soft rustle of someone's robes.

Sariss was bent over a desk, preparing the ingredients for some kind of potion. By the smell of it as it was now, it was something with nightshade in it. Some sort of Sleeping Potion it must be, if she was brewing it in the dead of night.

She looked up for a moment when she grew aware of his presence, but quickly returned her attention to the task she'd set herself. She looked tired and her hair was down for the night.

She meticulously weighed powdered bicorn horn and added it to her witch's brew. Indeed, that night she looked more like a witch as Muggles would imagine one, than she'd looked at the Hallowe'en dance… Brewing a potion, bent over a cauldron, in the dead of night with her hair in gentle waves and all around her, Severus had never seen someone who resembled his ideal of a witch more than she did—in every respect imaginable.

She seemed to hardly acknowledge his presence, so absorbed was she in her work. And she wore the same expression on her face as she had done when she had been the student and Severus the teacher. Her brows were furrowed in concentration.

She put on a pair of Dragonhide gloves because of some nasty ingredient… Acid fungi, perhaps. Yes. A tiny amount, squished, so that they looked like some sort of brownish-green slime, belonged in a strong Sleeping Potion. She threw it into the simmering cauldron and gently stirred for a few moments, before she added some ginger roots.

But she hadn't taken off the gloves yet. Something else that had better not be touched had to go into the cauldron… 

Aconite? Then she'd be brewing Dreamless Sleep Potion to ward off nightmares…

"Still up?" Severus whispered after a long while of merely watching her.

"Didn't dare fall asleep again without a considerable amount of this," she replied equally softly and indicated the gently simmering potion.

She added the highly poisonous Wolfsbane, jerking her hair back, as a strand of it had developed a will of its own and its tip threatened to drop into the simmering potion which she stirred with one hand, slowly adding the last ingredient with her other one. She tried to get rid of the curling rebel strand by jerking her head to the side. It wasn't entirely effective, since it worked for mere seconds before the curling strand came slithering back as though it refused to stay put.

She mouthed a curse.

Severus smiled inwardly. Her relationship with that stray curl reminded him strongly of his relationship with her. As she didn't get the curl to obey, unable to touch it, he couldn't get to her either. Perhaps…

He stepped closer, reached out and slowly tucked it safely behind her ear. The sensation was exquisite. Her hair was rebellious but smooth and soft. Wild but controlled, at least for now. Just like her.

She should wear her hair down more often. It gave her a much more sensual air, as it brought thoughts to his mind that consisted of not much more than her bare skin and her hair being the only material to hide it from view… 

"That's better, isn't it?" he whispered.

**~*~*~**

"That's better, isn't it?" Snape asked.

"Yes, thank you," she forced out. He had startled her with his action. Indeed with his mere presence. It was the middle of the night. She had been so sure no one would turn up—as usual.

And then, like a ghost, he had appeared in the room and watched her. For several long minutes. Wordlessly. She could feel his gaze on her skin, penetrating her. His eyes seemed to do that on their own, smouldering and dark as those much more frequently cold and almost empty eyes could look sometimes…

She was feeling highly insecure with him already, alone, in the Potions dungeon, in the dead of night, working on a potion that he might not find well done—she felt like a student, and she hated it!

And sure as that, he took a look at her potion.

"Another Dreamless Sleep Potion…" he mused. "Now I know why I'm constantly running low on Wolfsbane…" 

"Sorry, wanted to replenish it as soon as—," she began in a small voice lest he might be yelling again and if there was one thing she couldn't stand, it was being yelled at. But on the other hand… How come he scared her even more when he was speaking so softly?

She couldn't seem to decide what she wanted him to be like.

"Still having those nightmares?" He sounded almost concerned. It seemed she couldn't stand that either. Was it pity that made him sound like that? She didn't want it! But how could he ever forget that embarrassing scene she'd made when she'd come back from one of her little journeys? "I should have thought of that and prepared some for you."

"I think I can take care of that myself," she stated, her voice soft but firm and steady—at least she hoped it sounded that way—and shifted her gaze back towards the potion that had turned a pleasant shade of dark purple—Sariss loved the colour—which indicated that it contained enough aconite and nightshade and wasn't toxic anymore. She removed her gloves. Then, after taking the ladle that Snape had handed her ("thank you"), she unstoppered some of the small bottles she had set onto the table before brewing the potion, and started pouring the purple liquid into them.

"Apparently, you haven't forgotten what I taught you. There might just be hope that others will remember just as well," he said with a smirk, but in the case of Severus Snape that might even have been a small smile.

With a few waves and swishes of her wand, she cleaned the table and cauldron, ladle, knife, mortar and pestle and sent them to their respective places along with what was left of the ingredients she'd used.

Feeling a bit uncomfortable still, she forced a smile, that however couldn't have reached her eyes even faintly and bid the Potions master goodnight.

She'd drink a whole phial of the Potion to rid herself from those nightmares. She'd made a strong potion. It would ward off the dreams long enough to allow her to sleep in. Sariss hadn't slept in for ages. It would be nice to take up that habit again, even if only for a few days.

**Next chapter:**

Some snogging, Christmas presents, mistletoe, someone gets to be kissed and everyone else is amused about that. Severus attends a _meeting_. Draco thinks he knows something and Sariss has a nightmare—or dream. Another Quidditch match. Sirius has a little cameo. And Snape can't stop staring at Sariss. How unnerving…


	10. Come Closer

**Author's note:** Is anybody but **Blaise**—thank you!—reading this at all? Hello? *voice echoes in the void*

Chapter 9: Come Closer

**_For a moment the world turns its back  
And you let me come closer_**

_--HIM: Dark Secret Love_

"Wake up, Harry!" Harry heard Ron shout from the common room—and ignored him completely. It was much too comfy in bed—even more so, since Ginny was curled up next to him.

The Christmas holidays had begun and Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny had Gryffindor Tower almost all to themselves. A few younger students were staying over Christmas also, but their number was considerably small—not even a dozen Gryffindors in total—and none of them were in their seventh year. Thus, the four friends had decided to change the sleeping arrangement, meaning that Harry and Ginny had the boys' dorm, Ron and Hermione the girls' dorm all to themselves.

"HARRY! Stop snogging my sister—or whatever else you might be doing—and come down!" Ron shouted. _Always with his mind in the gutter…_ "It's Christmas! There're presents and you're going to sleep all day?" _Oh, yes, and now you're trying to sound innocent, huh? Sleep, yeah right._

Ginny grumbled something in her half-sleep that sounded suspiciously like, "Shut up, you git," and snuggled closer to Harry.

_Mmm… Nice…_

Harry had just decided to allow himself to drift off again when—

"It's lunchtime, you two. Try to keep your hormones in check and come down!" Hermione joined in and then squealed. "Stop it, Ron!"

"I'm taking it back! Go on snogging and whatever else you might do!"

Harry chuckled and noticed that Ginny, too, sniggered.

"See you at the feast!"

"That's not until tonight," Harry said.

"Well, then we'll have to find something we can waste away the time, huh?" Ginny said, hoisting herself up on her elbow, so her sleepy and dishevelled head appeared close enough for Harry to perceive every detail about it, even though he wasn't wearing his glasses. If he had, Ginny would have taken them off of him.

"What exactly is on your mind?"

"Something we'd not like being disturbed by any house-elf while we do it." She giggled softly and bent down to kiss him. "A repetition of last night, perhaps… You think Ron was serious about meeting us at the feast? That's quite a long time…"

"Well, I'm not quite sure but Hermione might just make him study something for the N.E.W.Ts before she… erm… lets him have any."

"Don't give me ideas, Mr Potter," Ginny teased.

"But I'd so love to give you ideas—although on a different sector, Miss Weasley."

"And on which?" She kissed the tip of his nose.

"More than one, actually…" Harry said, rolling her on her back. "But all of them are somewhere on you."

"This could prove interesting, Mr Potter," she said huskily and snaked her arms around his shoulders. "It will, won't it?"

"I sure hope so, Miss Weasley."

Harry began kissing her slowly, nibbling and teasing, as they had all the time in the world. Who cared about a Christmas present when they had Ginny in their arms? Ginny, whose fiery hair was spread all over the pillow, whose hot little hands were all over his body, whose soft lips desperately sought to kiss Harry's.

The Christmas feast seemed to be taking place all too soon…

But eventually they got dressed—interrupting themselves several times with long and sweet kisses—and went down into the common room, where they were soon joined by Hermione and Ron. The latter complained loudly that they had actually been studying for an hour or two, but was much more discreet about the time that had not been spent studying.

After quickly opening their presents—Mrs Weasley had sent the obligatory maroon sweater for Ron ("She knows I hate maroon!") and an emerald green one for Harry (the Dursleys had sent a wad of cotton wool)—they went down into the Great Hall. As could be expected they all were quite hungry—for food.

On their way there they went past especially decorated suits of armour which had once again been taught a few Christmas songs—although in most cases incomplete, as they were forgetting whole lines. Peeves loved to fill in the blanks for them whenever possible.

Almost everyone was already there when they finally arrived.

The Great Hall was beautifully decked out. A dozen tall Christmas trees had been set up, decorated with magical, non-melting snow and many-coloured ribbons, stars and other sparkling ornaments Harry had no name for. Rings of mistletoe had been woven into magically glittering loops and placed onto the one table that was set up in the centre of the room, and some of it was hung on the ceiling, too. Harry was convinced Ginny only drew him that way because of that lovely tradition that you had to kiss when you met someone under it. He didn't mind in the slightest as that was exactly the place where Harry's relationship with Ginny, formerly merely loose and on a friendly basis, had taken a turn to the more serious side, to a very serious side to be precise.

"I can hardly wait for the food to arrive," said Ron, expectantly scanning the table up and down, when the doors opened and Professor Snape entered the Great Hall. He stopped after a short distance and turned around. Footsteps were echoing through the Entrance Hall and a figure dressed all in black with layers of robes—although without the formal wizard's robe—fluttering after her rushed through the doorway, stopping dead in her tracks as she caught sight of Snape. It was Professor Ravon. "Am I late?" she asked.

"Not to my knowledge," the Potions master answered.

She furrowed her brows. "Then why are you staring at me as though I had stood you up?"

Ravon was right; Snape was indeed staring at her as if she'd done just that. He opened his mouth to retaliate, but Hagrid's booming voice kept him from doing so. "Mistletoe alert!" the half-giant shouted happily, grinning from ear to ear, or at least Harry thought so, since all he could actually see was a lot of facial hair and the twinkle in Hagrid's eyes…

Professors Snape and Ravon exchanged somewhat horrified glances, looked at the few teachers and students who were staying over Christmas, before chancing a look at the ceiling where the very object of their dismay hung, glittering innocently.

"Are you as eager as I am to see what they're going to do or rather not do?" Ginny whispered into Harry's ear.

"Ah, yes, the mistletoe. Brings up memories, doesn't it, Gin?" Harry sighed exaggeratedly.

"Just imagine the possibilities those two would have then…" Ginny grinned.

"Snape and Ravon? Nah. They might not exactly loathe each other, but they are nonetheless… well, they don't get on with each other very well," Harry replied.

"No DADA teacher as of yet has gotten on with Snape remotely well."

"There's always a possibility," Hermione said, extricating herself from Ron's grasp so she could lean over towards Harry and Ginny. "It has worked with you two after all."

"Hermione, please stop this," Ron pleaded. "You know I am susceptible to getting horrible mental images…"

Hermione harrumphed and fell silent. That was a good thing since the entertainment was about to continue. Having stared at the mistletoe for several long seconds the two Professors swallowed and looked at each other again. Then they spoke just loudly enough to be overheard.

"I could have sworn that this thing was not there when I entered but over there instead…" Professor Ravon pointed to a now empty space a few yards away from where they were standing. It was remarkable how thin her mouth could go, how much she could narrow her eyes in suspicion when the occasion called for it.

"I think you're right. This has been done on purpose…"

"It seems to be so."

"Do we actually agree on something for a change?" Snape asked, more than a hint of amusement in his voice as she glared at him, but couldn't reply since…

Dumbledore interrupted their discussion. "Now? What are you waiting for? I'm quite sure both of you know what 'mistletoe alert' means—if I weren't I could tell from your expressions," he said, clearly enjoying himself, his blue eyes twinkling behind his half-moon spectacles. 

Ron stuffed his fist into his mouth to keep himself from howling with laughter at the look on the Professors' faces, while Harry pressed his lips tightly together. Hermione and Ginny were shaking with silent laughter already. And the few other students fared not much better—which brought them all quite exasperated glares from the objects of their sudden hilarity.

"I'm not going to contribute to _that_," Professor Ravon jerked her thumb in direction of the not only slightly amused audience, "any longer." She sighed. "Let's get it over with." She jerked her hair back, steeling herself for something Harry didn't even dare imagine.

"That's a good idea even though it's coming from _you_," Snape answered.

_Bickering like a married couple,_ Harry thought, _those two could give Ron and Hermione a run for their money._ Harry choked at what he was implying to himself. _Nah. No way. Not Snape…_

"It's unlucky to ignore the mistletoe," Professor Trelawney—she had actually come down from North Tower for the Christmas feast—stated in her infamous misty voice. "It will bring you—." 

"Sybill, please, no death predictions on Christmas. The new millennium is going to start soon, so you'd do well to save your predictions for the year two thousand," McGonagall said, rolling her eyes. "A much more suitable background for visions of the apocalypse, don't you think? Tripe, Sybill?" McGonagall waved her hand loosely in direction of a plate with said _delicacy_ on it.

Trelawney tsked, but fell silent, taking great interest in the arrangement of the huge many-coloured rings on her hands.

"Unlucky, huh?" Professor Ravon said sceptically. "Either way I'm never going to see the end of this…"

"Finally something we'll have in common," Snape answered and looked alarmed when a displeased Professor Ravon suddenly stood on tiptoe and planted a very quick kiss on Snape's cheek.

Harry saw Ron wince and grimace. Hermione nudged him in the ribs. Ginny looked a bit disappointed and as she noticed Harry looking at her, she whispered, "What? We did better."

"Yes, we did. Much better…" Harry whispered back.

"Now, Sariss, I' seen students do better 'n tha'," Hagrid, who was slightly inebriated—as always on Christmas—teased. "An' even ol' Professor Dumbledore here," he coughed, "right, Professor McGonagall?" No one else would ever have dared to state this quite as openly.

McGonagall blushed and obviously had to bite back a snigger at that as she covered her mouth with her hand, her cheeks going quite rosy all of a sudden.

Snape glared at them, exasperated. 

Ravon snorted, then rolled her eyes and crossed her arms in front of herself.

Snape spoke up and said, "Just a minute," and pulled her a bit away from the highly interested audience before he leant in on her to whisper something in her ear…

**~*~*~**

_I kissed his cheek. Oh my!_

**What was it like?**

_Really strange._

"Now, Sariss, I' seen students do better 'n tha'," a very drunk Hagrid teased. **Well, he still can't resist eggnog, can he?** "An' even ol' Professor Dumbledore here, ahem, right, Professor McGonagall?"

Dumbledore and McGonagall under the mistletoe? Sariss smirked. What a sight that must have been… She would have loved to see them embarrassed for a change—but obviously the two of them found it quite funny. Well, it _would_ have provided a good laugh—if Sariss hadn't been in the same situation with the Potions master. 

Of all people, it had to be him! He was being almost constantly unfriendly and when he wasn't for a change, he made her feel uncomfortable or as if she owed him something (which she kind of did…). And to think she had actually started to like him _a bit_ by the time she'd graduated from Hogwarts…

And now she had kissed his cheek and it hadn't even remotely felt as revolting as she had thought it would…

What the hell, she thought—you don't see Snape in a situation like that every day—not even when you're a Slytherin and see him more often since he's your Head of House and—.

_Oh, Merlin's beard! What is this… this… man doing now?_

Severus Snape had grabbed her by the arm quite unceremoniously and pulled her away from the students and teachers who were clearly enjoying themselves. _All_ of them—perhaps with the exception of Trelawney… He leant in and said softly, "I challenge you."

"Challenge me to do what exactly?" she whispered back, her eyes wide. 

_Oh, god, oh, god, oh, god…_

His hot breath on her neck made her feel so… so weird… And the way his robes smelt… A bit peppery, bitter, similar to wormwood, the fragrance of herbs and potions, also a bit smoky as though he had stood near an open fire or bent over the cauldron for quite some time… She'd never noticed that before. It made her feel oddly dizzy. 

"To do what's required to be left in peace—finally," he replied. "You said it yourself. Let's get it over with."

"You're actually insinuating that we ought to… _kiss_?" she asked disbelievingly.

**What's gotten into him lately?**

"Not insinuating, woman, flat-out telling you."

"Wh-what if I refuse?" she asked shakily. 

"Would be unlucky," he breathed into her ear, stirring her hair with his breath. Sariss, in turn, could hardly breathe without experiencing this dizziness that she wasn't too comfortable with.

_Oh, gods… _

**Think straight, Sariss Electra Ravon, you can do this. It's nothing, really. Everyone does it. It doesn't mean anything. There's not much of a difference between a cheek and a pair of lips, is there?**

"Well, we… wouldn't want that now, would we?" she said, letting a hint of a smile cross her features. 

**At second thought, this could prove to be quite fun_. _Just imagine the students' faces…**

_Yeah, sure. Snape and me—what a couple… Not really. I want to get out of here…_

**Really? I think not.**

_Shut it._

"Precisely." He drew back from her, and she inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. This had been simply too close. "Now that we have settled this… Were we standing exactly… there?" 

Sariss gulped and nodded shakily, following him. "Uh-huh." She could feel a dozen or so pairs of eyes boring into her as she looked at the Potions master.

He reached out with his hand, touched her chin lightly and tilted her head up. A shiver raced through her at his touch. His hand was warm, not cold as one would have expected when looking at him.

Then he lowered his mouth to hers, closer and closer he came until his lips lightly brushed hers, sending an even more intense shiver through her. She closed her eyes, totally unable to keep them open any longer. 

Time had slowed down considerably as soon as he'd touched her. His scent invaded her senses all too completely, making her feel ever more dizzy. 

So tentative he was, so gentle, hardly touching her at all. The thought had crossed her mind that he'd take advantage of the situation… but he did not. Recently he hadn't done many things she'd have expected him to do—such as run straight to Dumbledore and spill the beans about Sariss's nervous breakdown. However, he must have told him where Sariss headed on a regular basis since the headmaster hadn't been very much surprised when they had discussed the matter of visiting the grave. So Snape had kept his promise. She had to grant him that he'd managed to surprise her with such subtlety and discretion.

The mistletoe-induced kiss, too, was subtle. Had she so badly misjudged him?

_This feels… nice… somehow… lovely even… _

Sariss had to fight back a sigh that threatened to escape her.

**I could get used to that…** a little voice spoke up in the back of her mind—a voice that was a bit too forward for Sariss's taste. Yet, she didn't have the mental strength to tell it to shut up any longer.

Sariss felt her heart beat faster—.

_CRASH!_

Snape and Sariss all but leapt apart, startled.

"Oh no, not again," Sariss moaned almost inaudibly, looking at Dumbledore whose glass of pumpkin juice had shattered, soaking the tablecloth.

"Must have dropped it," Dumbledore mumbled.

She was surprised at herself that she cursed inwardly about the fact that they'd been interrupted. This hadn't been that bad after all… 

**You liked it! Don't deny it. You did.**

_I might._

**I knew it! I knew it all the time!**

The room was completely silent for a few seconds, and then Hagrid started to clap and shouted, "Well done!" and the other people joined in.

**~*~*~**

"What are they talking about?" Ginny asked, clearly straining her ears, the little curious one that she was. 

"No idea. Maybe they're devising a plan to wriggle out of this…" Harry replied.

"Pity. I was hoping for a good laugh," Ron stated dryly.

"I thought this would give you a horrible mental image?" Hermione. 

"It's just that—." Ron.

"Shh. Quiet. They're finished, I think…" Ginny interrupted them and drew their attention back on the Professors.

"Now that we've settled this…" Snape said casually. "Were we standing exactly… there?" He walked to the space below the mistletoe and pointed to the floor.

Professor Ravon agreed, nodding slowly, and walked to the spot he'd indicated.

"They aren't really going to—" 

They were! Good heavens! Harry thought he could hear several jaws including his own simultaneously hit the floor as Snape stooped and kissed the DADA mistress full on the lips—thankfully only for a few seconds—until Dumbledore accidentally broke his glass of pumpkin juice and apologized immediately for it. 

Harry gathered his jaw up again. He was speechless—unlike Ron who made a noise and a gesture of disgust. The girls, however, sighed and grinned, as Hagrid shouted "Well done!" and clapped, as well as Dumbledore. The other teachers joined them after a second and even Harry felt obliged to applaud when he saw Ginny do so.

"Isn't it romantic?"

"Yes, kinda sweet…"

"It's Snape!" Ron mouthed in horror.

Harry and Ron first stared at each other and then at the girls as though Hermione and Ginny had suddenly grown second heads.

**~*~*~**

"I'm going to kill them nonetheless," Sariss muttered. Snape caught up with her as she briskly walked up to the part of the table where the rest of the staff members were already gathered.

"Whom exactly are you going to kill?" Snape asked curiously. "Dumbledore, Hagrid—me, perhaps?" 

_This man's sense of humour is unbelievable…_

"I haven't decided yet," she hissed back, "whoever brought up that tradition."

Robes billowing behind them the two of them made their way to their respective seats. Sariss glared smugly at Dumbledore, trying to apply an expression to her face that said something along the lines '_You did that, didn't you_?' But she was unable to keep the glare up for much longer than one or two seconds when she saw Dumbledore's eyes twinkle—as usual, or even more.

And as she moved to fill her goblet with some pumpkin juice and leant forward a bit, she heard him hum innocently, a broad, satisfied smile on his face. Not to mention Hagrid and McGonagall's expressions! Flitwick had disappeared under the table; only the tip of his wizard's hat was showing and it was shuddering. The little fellow must be sniggering really badly… And Trelawney had disappeared again; obviously, McGonagall's lacking respect for Divination had driven her back to her lair…

"What is it now?" Sariss asked, noticing that Snape had buried his face in his hands and was shaking his head. She cursed inwardly that she couldn't see his face because of this damned long, greasy—

(…**but nonetheless sensual and certainly very soft**…****

_Don't you dare even go there!)_

—hair of his. What was he thinking?

"Now that was something one doesn't see every day," Dumbledore said, raising his eyebrows at Sariss, who felt her face go warm and mimicked Snape's gesture. He, unlike her, had apparently guessed what was to come from Dumbledore and the others… 

**Then why did he do it nonetheless?**

_I have no idea._

**Perhaps you do…**

**~*~*~**

Later that night, when the feast was over and everyone had retired, Severus sat in his office. Alone. It was more of a home to him than his rooms.

He didn't do anything but stare into emptiness, trying to forget her softness, hoping that this kiss wouldn't become another scar, as there wasn't much room on his heart, mind, or soul left for something like that, when—

Sharp pain shot through his arm, violently reminding him of the one reason why he'd never live a carefree life again. The Dark Mark was burning. The Dark Lord called.

And Severus was to obey.

He knew what day it was. He knew what would happen that very night. He had been dreading it. Another as of yet innocent soul would descend into Darkness—and this one had been destined to do so since the first scream had torn from its owner's throat. A new generation of Death Eaters was being formed and one more added to the list of souls that would be lost to peace and warmth—and love.

Suppressing a groan of pain, Severus got up, snatched his broomstick and went to join his master for a very special night.

He arrived simultaneously with a dozen other Death Eaters at their momentary meeting place and took his position in the wide circle. The sheer number of the Dark Lord's servants was breathtaking. Everyone seemed to have been called and had come. Crabbe, Goyle and Nott had brought their sons. They had been initiated earlier that year already. The Parkinsons were there, both of them. Their daughter would most likely be initiated on her eighteenth birthday the following year. If Severus recalled correctly, it was in June. Wayne Bulstrode's daughter might become a Death Eater, too. Severus had grown aware of the fact that there were more and more witches added to the Death Eaters' ranks…

There were so many children… They'd be the second lost generation. They'd be betraying those who thought them friends; they'd recruit them or kill them. It was a never-ending circle of death.

And Severus was part of it. Still.

"Tonight, my faithful servants, we will add one more to our considerable number. Contrary to most of you, he has been prepared for that honour all his life," the Dark Lord said. "Step forward, novice."

A tall, slender, hooded figure stepped forth, followed by another one with much the same stature and bearing.

"Lower your hood, Draco," Lucius Malfoy hissed and his son obeyed. His pale pointed face appeared as he did so. He looked expectant and proud. Had Severus looked the same way? He wasn't sure if he had hidden his fear as completely as this boy could…

"My Lord," the boy said and gracefully lowered himself down on one knee so he kneeled before his future Lord and master.

Lucius' grey eyes glinted coldly in the torchlight. It had come as a surprise when Narcissa had married him. At school, she had been in Severus's year. Lucius was twelve years her elder. She had been so light-hearted and carefree until she'd caught Lucius' cool and calculating eyes. Even though she was a half-blood, he'd married her. Because she'd been beautiful; and she couldn't simply refuse his advances, since her family had been poor and, more importantly, in danger. It simply didn't do, marrying a Muggle during those times when you were a pureblood. They were no more now. The Dark Lord had made sure of that.

Narcissa was still beautiful, but she wasn't the same anymore. Severus could only imagine what life was like in Malfoy Manor for a woman who served the sole purpose of looking good on her husband's arm and providing him with an heir. She'd come to hate him. She'd told Severus that when he had been visiting Lucius. Malfoy had been fetching something from under the drawing-room floor when Narcissa had confided in Severus for the sole reason that he was not a Malfoy and that she knew she could count on his silence.

She didn't ask for anything but his silence. She'd merely needed to talk to someone with no Malfoy blood in their veins or Malfoy money in their pockets. She merely had to say the words out loud for once in her life. She needed them to be spoken to someone. She hadn't even wanted a response because it would make nothing undone.

Then Lucius had returned, and Narcissa had once again applied that look on her face that said, "You're all inferior to me." It was a mask. And she wore it because of Lucius.

It seemed that everyone was wearing masks, pretending to be different from what they were, pretending to not feel, not see, not hear anything they didn't want anyone to know about. Everyone kept everything about them secret, their wishes, their dreams, their feelings. And for what? For fear, they'd be destroyed on account of one of them.

Lucius had a talent for destroying people's lives, in every respect. He'd married Narcissa. He'd recruited Severus (and many others). He'd educated his son in the matters of cruelty and sheer Malfoy-ness—which could be regarded as one and the same.

And here was Draco, bowing before the Dark Lord, kissing the hem of his robes and pledging everlasting loyalty—just like Severus had done it once.

"What is thy bidding, my master?" Draco said. His father had obviously taught him what to say, how to address Voldemort. The ritual had been the same when Severus had been initiated such a long time ago…

"Rise, Draco, and reveal your forearm," he Dark Lord demanded.

The boy obeyed. He presented his left forearm to the Dark Lord, ready to receive the mark. And for the first time, Severus saw a faint trembling in Draco's hands.

The Dark Lord brandished his wand, took hold of the boy's arm—Severus could almost see his own initiation replaying before his inner eye—rested the tip of his wand against the boy's skin and hissed, "Morsmordre."

A greenish glow enveloped the boy's arm, as he sunk to his knees, his lips pressed together tightly so as not to cry out when the Dark Mark burnt itself deep into his raw flesh.

There weren't many who had undergone this procedure in silence.

Lucius hated nothing more than to be embarrassed. He must have taught his son self-discipline. Severus refused to let his mind picture the means that man must have used to make his own son so numb to such pain—and that when Severus had suffered some of what he refused to imagine now himself… 

Apprentices had writhed on the floor, screaming in agony, but Draco didn't make a single sound.

**~*~*~**

Harry watched Draco Malfoy receiving the Dark Mark.

The glow stopped and Malfoy took a deep breath, only a bit of sweat on his forehead betraying the effort it had taken him not to cry out at the pain that must have been shooting up his arm.

Harry shuddered involuntarily. It was strange, this being able to see such things in his dreams. When he woke up he'd most certainly have forgotten most of it already…

"Rise, my servant," Voldemort hissed, his red eyes glinting madly, "and look at the sign that makes you mine forever."

Malfoy did so. The skull and the snake protruding from its mouth. It was livid, raw and ghastly. That anyone could actually want to bear that mark was beyond Harry, but so was joining the Dark Lord.

"Draco," the Dark Lord continued, "will you ever betray me? Will you ever deny that you're mine?"

"No, master, I will not."

"So as to demonstrate what would happen if you ever did… Crucio!"

The curse hit Draco full in the chest and its force made him fall over, so he was writhing on the floor. Voldemort ended the torture quickly, and Draco lay there, panting, for a moment, before he got up, his legs not quite as reliable as usual, and said an unsteady, "Thank you, master."

"Never disappoint me, Draco."

"I will never disappoint you, my Lord," Draco said.

"Then you shall stand by my side when victory will be ours. Soon. You will not be present at many meetings, my young apprentice, as you're still at Hogwarts. But that will chance. When you're ready to leave there, it will be ours already."

"Yes, master."

"Listen to your father's advice. You do want to be as able a hand to me as he is now, do you?"

"Yes, master."

"Good. You will receive your instructions via your father. I trust the mark will not be too much of a burden to you?"

"No, master. It is an honour to bear your symbol."

"Wisely spoken. You've taught him well, Lucius."

"I thank you, my Lord."

"Very well. That will be all. You're dismissed—except for my Inner Circle." Most of the Death Eaters bowed and Disapparated at once. A handful of them left through a doorway Harry hadn't even noticed before.

"Wait outside," said Lucius Malfoy to Draco who bowed and left obediently.

The few remaining Death Eaters lowered their hoods as they stepped closer as Voldemort continued, "The time is near for us to strike. In the new year, we'll either obtain one of our strongest assets or get rid of a dangerous enemy. It will not be my choice. It will be the girl's choice. However, there are some obstacles. First, she hardly ever leaves Hogwarts grounds. Second, if she does, she's among too many witches and wizards loyal to Dumbledore. Third, she is as good as invincible, so she must be trapped. I shall ponder that matter and appoint a pair of you at a time I see fit. She'll join us—or…"

Harry woke up gasping for air. The scar was throbbing. Voldemort. He had been dreaming about the Death Eaters and Voldemort… What had it been about? Draco Malfoy… Yes, Harry remembered it now. And Snape had been there, too…

Voldemort was up to something. And it had something to do with Hogwarts and with a girl and a choice…

Harry let himself fall back into the pillows and stared up into the darkness, waiting for the scar to stop hurting, waiting to fall back asleep…

Ginny stirred. "Somethin' wrong?" she slurred sleepily.

"'S just a dream, Gin," Harry whispered. "Woke me up."

"One of the real ones about You Know Who?"

"Yes." Harry instinctively drew her closer. Somehow, he needed her to be close now; he needed her to make certain that there was more to the world than the Dark Lord's shadow. Harry needed the little sun that was Ginny to warm away the Dark Lord's cold laughter.

"What was it about?"

"Malfoy is a Death Eater now. Draco Malfoy."

"Then we'll have a Death Eater at Hogwarts?"

"I fear we have more than one of them here. I at least am going to watch my back around any Slytherins. Just in case."

"Oh, dear," Ginny whispered. "But they can't do anything in here, can they? Dumbledore won't let them, right?"

"I love you, Gin," Harry said, surprised how thick his voice sounded.

"I know," she whispered as she nestled into his embrace, "and I love you."

**~*~*~**

Term had started again and Sariss was once again showered in essays she was supposed to read and grade. She had come to dread any essays that bore Hermione Granger's name on them, since they tended to be long, difficult and far beyond what a seventeen-year-old should be capable of. But the worst was that it was about four times as long as her classmates'—and that when her letters only had half the size.

Sariss actually pondered giving her an eleven out of ten for the essay about wandless magic she'd had the students write over the Christmas holidays.

If she did that in every subject… Well, it would explain Snape's obnoxiousness on some days, since the girl might indeed write something he'd actually have to look up and—as Sariss had experienced herself already—he didn't like to be corrected in any way. 

Sariss chuckled and scribbled a 'Well done, Miss Granger. Full marks—although half of what you wrote would have justified that' on the parchment and then took the next one from a considerably smaller-than-it-had-been-when-she'd-started-grading stack of parchments.

That one had just the right length. Draco Malfoy's. Sariss wondered if the boy would manage to use exactly three hundred words in an essay if she asked one of that length from him. Malfoys were good at being accurate; as good as they were at being insufferable.

Sariss read the parchment and found exactly what she had been explaining during her lessons. If this boy were to follow in his father's footsteps, he'd make a good, obedient, Death Eater one day—if he wasn't already. If anything, Sariss had learnt that Death Eaters in particular managed to cloak their emotions if they had any left, that is. The boy was as of yet not so good at doing that. On the contrary. Sariss sensed him all too clearly—and that when nineteen other students were in the room!

However, she reminded herself to be unbiased. She had to be blind to the name that was written down at the top of the parchment. Even if it was Malfoy.

Sariss was almost finished with it, when she noticed that the boy had added a paragraph that didn't belong. It consisted of merely three words.

_'I know it.'_

Sariss furrowed her brows for a moment and then muttered, "Well, that's good for you, boy, though it would better if you'd explained what exactly you think you _know_," before she crossed it out and wrote a seven out of ten down on the parchment, explaining that he needed to do a bit of thinking on his part to receive full marks. Only repeating what he was being told wouldn't take him far in life.

She dismissed the three words with a smirk and set to work on the next roll of parchment. 

Apparently, it was one of her better days that day. She had been feeling surprisingly light and cheerful—at least to her recent standards. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that the nightmare she kept having again hadn't come back all too distinctly for almost a week. She felt more stable when it was absent without leave. But she knew she had been dreaming something. It was inevitable to start dreaming as soon as the Potion wore off. It must have been something nice for a chance. Sariss couldn't remember ever having a dream that hadn't had her wake up screaming.

On the other hand, it might also have something to do with the fact that Snape hadn't bothered her beyond what was acceptable recently.

He hadn't mentioned the 'incident'. Not even in passing. Neither had Dumbledore. When she'd excused herself, explaining that she would be visiting 'the place' again, the headmaster had merely nodded and told her to take care. Snape could apparently keep a secret longer than for mere days. 

**Well, he should. A remnant of his Death Eater days, huh?**

_I wonder what would have happened if I had thrown that in his face._

**I think he would have strangled you.**

_Yes, so do I… Let's get back to work, shall we?_

**I have no choice in that matter, anyway.**

**~*~*~**

Sariss found herself walk through the halls of Hogwarts. She had no idea where she was heading, didn't know her destination. This was not the Hogwarts she knew. It was strangely empty. There was not the slightest trace of a living being—or a dead one for that matter either. Not even Peeves the Poltergeist could be heard throwing something or singing a rude song. The only sounds that Sariss heard were her own breathing, the rustle of her robes, and the soft clicking noise of her heels. The sound of her steps seemed unnaturally loud to her, as it was so very silent.

It was like a graveyard. The fact that it seemed so much gloomier than usual didn't help. Sariss felt herself go frightened. Why was it so dark? It wasn't night. Through the windows, she could see the light of day, but it didn't penetrate the windowpanes to fill the halls with gentle and warm winter sunlight. Why? Not even the considerable amount of torches that were lining the walls and flickering merrily could lighten the corridors… Why were the torches burning by day? And why were they so useless?

And Sariss walked on and on, looking for something familiar, something that would explain why everything was so different… Dumbledore's office. She should try her luck there, shouldn't she? Yes, a good idea. If she found Dumbledore, it would be fine. He'd have an explanation…

His office should be up the staircase and then along the corridor. She'd see the gargoyle as soon as she'd turn the corner…

It wasn't there. Sariss suddenly found herself in a completely different part of the castle than she had been seconds ago. Panicking slightly, she turned around, only to see that the world behind her had also changed. The picture she had passed when she had walked along the corridor was gone. Instead, there was a tapestry that actually belonged up in the fifth floor…

Sariss began to run, changing direction at random. If she couldn't find Dumbledore's office by following the map of Hogwarts that was inside her head, she'd surely stumble upon the gargoyle by accident.

Faster and faster, her steps became, as she skittered around turns and corners. If she ran fast enough, she might just reach her destination before it could change its location again…

The sound of Sariss's ragged breathing seemed to echo off the walls as she opened another door that led her into another series of corridors instead of the room that was supposed to be there.

Another door, another corridor or room that didn't belong there. Sariss wanted to scream but she was afraid to make an unnecessary noise, since it was so silent. Every door that fell shut behind her made her jump, whether it was the first or the twenty-first time that happened…

She felt herself go desperate. She merely wanted to wake up from this nightmare. If only it were a nightmare. She'd wake up screaming and sweating, yes, but she'd find herself safely in her bed.

She must go on. Someone must be there. _Anyone! Please!_

Sariss opened the next best door and found herself in the Great Hall. Empty, gloomy and silent. No surprises there.

The large doors opened on their own and led her into the Entrance Hall.

She almost cried with relief that something was right at last. 

Should she try to leave the castle? Where would she go? Hagrid's? Yes. If she couldn't reach Dumbledore, she'd try to reach Hagrid's.

Sariss approached the huge front doors of Hogwarts castle. As she moved to open them, she realized that they didn't give an inch. She pulled with all she was worth, put all her strength and her not quite as considerable weight into it. It didn't budge. She refused to give up so easily. She pushed and pulled. There was no way to overcome it. Even magic didn't work. She was so desperate by now that the powers should be getting out of hand any second. But there wasn't the slightest indication that that would be the case in the near future. She slammed her fist into the wood. It was supposed to splinter. But it didn't. It was harder than steel. Sariss felt sharp pain rush up her arm. She cried out in pain and fell to the floor cradling her aching hand. It must be broken. There was no other explanation…

Sariss opened her eyes and found herself stand at the top of the marble staircase, looking down into the Entrance Hall, facing the front doors…

She was a bit confused. She couldn't remember how she had gotten to where she was… Hadn't she been somewhere else a moment ago?

Yes. She'd wanted to look for Dumbledore. She couldn't find the way. She'd wanted to go down to Hagrid's hut, but couldn't open the doors…

She checked her hands, both of them, just to be sure. Wasn't she supposed to be hurt? 

Strange. She must have been daydreaming…

Cautiously, Sariss walked down the staircase, fearing that her surroundings would change any second, leaving her in a place in Hogwarts she was not familiar with…

Well, there was another option but Dumbledore and Hagrid.

Snape.

His office was closest. The dungeons couldn't be much darker than the parts of the castle she'd already been in, could they?

The stairs that were usually leading down to the dungeons did indeed do that.

Yes! The confusion seemed to be at an end. Finally. She'd find Snape, tell him that something was definitely not right in here and then…

Sariss raced around another corner and found herself face to face with Snape. He slowly walked in her direction. He was hardly ten yards away.

"Professor!" she shouted. Her voice resounded deafeningly off the walls. She didn't even care since relief washed over her like gentle summer rain. Never would she have thought that one day she'd be so happy to see him. "Professor, I'm so glad to see you." She came to a halt in front of him. He, too, had stopped walking.

"Listen, something's very very wrong in here. There's no one here. No students. No other teachers. Even the ghosts are gone. And Hogwarts has become a terrible, ever-changing maze. What's going on here?" Sariss almost cried with the relief that she could finally tell someone. How many hours had she spent running around the castle? All of a sudden, she wanted nothing more than to throw herself into his arms and cry. The fact that it was Severus Snape wasn't important anymore. He was the only person in this castle except herself.

He looked at her in a very strange way. A look like that seemed not to belong in his face. Or perhaps it was only the absence of a sneer or a smirk that gave his face that unusual expression. He could be such a handsome man if only he weren't leering and glowering and scowling all the time…

But why didn't he speak? 

Sariss felt herself go scared again. What if her jumbled and strained mind only imagined his presence? What if she'd already gone mad and was imagining things? What if he'd go up in a wisp of smoke and she'd be alone again? All alone in this huge castle she'd always thought she knew so well, the castle that seemed to purposely frighten her, wanted to drive her mad?

"Professor?" she asked in a small voice. She sounded as scared as she was. "Professor Snape… Are you… really here?" she chanced and reached out, but dared not touch him lest her hand would pass through him, thus proving that she'd finally lost her mind. 

It must be quite audible to him that she was close to tears. Sariss didn't even feel ashamed. She didn't care if she behaved like a hysterical girl. She needed him now. There was no one else she could turn to, no one else she could ask for help. She needed to be in a place with a lot of people. He could take her to such a place. He'd help her get out of the castle. He'd help her get out of this mess…

"Professor…" she repeated. "Help me, please." Her eyes flowed over. "Please, oh please, help me…" She buried her face in her hands and sobbed softly.

She looked up, startled, when she felt the touch of his hands on her wrist and he pulled her hands away from her face.

"You're real. You're actually there."

He nodded and gave something that could have been interpreted as a small smile. But then the look in his face became serious again.

"Professor? Could you… let go of me again? This is rather uncomfortable," she said, as he still held her wrists.

He did as requested.

"Thank—."

Sariss couldn't finish her sentence since she suddenly found his hands cupping her face, his mouth covering hers, taking her breath away as he kissed her in a most indecent way.

She felt her eyelids droop; her body seemed to float as he let his hands wander over her breasts and lower. Her knees felt like jelly; she was almost glad when she felt the wall in her back, when she felt herself kept upright by his body against hers…

Everything was swirling around her. She was dizzy. The only constant among the variables that the world had become was he and his mouth and his hands that were travelling over her, snaking their way boldly under the material of her robe, touching bare skin wherever they went. And all the time, he kept kissing her…

Or wasn't it vice versa? Sariss suddenly realized that it wasn't only he who was kissing her. No, she was kissing him, too. She must have been returning the kiss for quite some time by now. She also noticed that she had her arms around his neck, her fingers entangled in his hair or stroking his neck.

"Professor—," she managed to mumble in-between kisses.

"My name is Severus," he answered and resumed where she had interrupted him…

Everything that had happened earlier was forgotten. She didn't want to go anywhere anymore. Who cared if there was no one else but the two of them? As long as he kept doing what he was doing…

Sariss felt herself be lifted up against him. Only the tips of her toes touched the ground. She couldn't help but snake her leg around his hip. If she did that merely for support or for reasons that had to do with the fact that her whole body seemed to be alive with the touch of him wasn't important. She refused to ponder what she was doing. If she began to think about it, she'd only come to the conclusion that it was madness what she was doing here, that everything had been madness from the very beginning. But she didn't think about it.

His soft and warm hand slithered over her knee and up her bare thigh, leaving a trail of flushed skin in its wake, as his mouth closed over the skin on her shoulder, sucking and travelling over her collarbone and up towards her mouth again.

By Merlin, her whole body seemed to be pulsating with something that her mind couldn't name. It was sensual overkill such as she'd never felt before. She only knew that it scared her. And that she liked it.

She liked the way his body against hers felt like, she liked the feel and taste of his lips, she liked the touch of his hands. She even liked the way he all but crushed her against the wall—.

All of a sudden, Sariss felt herself tumble to the ground. She felt cold…

He was gone…

The ground gave way almost instantly and Sariss felt herself fall into the abyss, into darkness… She screamed. But she didn't scream for help. She merely called his name…

"Severus!"

She opened her eyes…

Her breath caught in her throat when she grew aware that she wasn't falling anymore. That she was lying in her bed. That it was early morning. That she wasn't wearing the robes she had been wearing when Snape had…

No. She was wearing her nightgown… It must have been a dream.

"Disturbing," she muttered and rolled over to get another hour or two of sleep. 

But what a strange dream it had been. Yes, she called it a dream, even though it had started as a nightmare.

Sariss had to laugh at herself. The mere thought that… But wait. Was it that ridiculous a thought? Well, her sleeping mind must have remembered the mistletoe-induced kiss and then spun it into something that could be called an erotic fantasy…

Strange how clearly she remembered that dream. Even her body seemed to remember it. In fact, it felt as if the dream had been real.

Never in her life had Sariss been so puzzled. What was it with that man? And why did such strange tingling sensations rush through her when she touched him? And it was only him. That had never happened before.

Not even with Rick. No. They'd decided they'd rather be friends than share another kiss. To Sariss it had felt as if she were kissing her non-existent brother. Rick, too, had grinned sheepishly and admitted that he felt similar about her. From that day on, they'd been like brother and sister. She'd been fourteen years old. It had been her first kiss…

And, under the mistletoe, Snape had stolen her second one…

Oh, dear. If that dream kept coming like her usual dreams were used to repeating themselves, she'd grow accustomed to the thought that Snape…

No way! 

This was ridiculous. Honestly.

**Admit it already. You only decided to take another nap now because you hope that the dream comes back—or even better, that it resumes where he left off…**

Sariss snuggled into the pillows.

_I prefer that dream to my usual ones, thank you very much…_

When she woke up again she wasn't sure if she had had another dream or not. But did it matter? The first one was burnt into her memory as if it had really happened.

Time would tell if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

**~*~*~**

Two weeks after the students' return to Hogwarts a Quidditch game was scheduled to take place. It was Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff, and Harry had made the team practise hard during that fortnight no matter if the snow had been falling lightly or so hard that the Quaffle had been hardly visible. It had led to Ron jokingly calling Harry 'Oliver' when he had gotten too deep into his 'Captain-mode'.

Be that as it may, it was a clear Saturday afternoon, the ground was frozen, making a lovely surface for a fast take-off—and the Hufflepuffs were waiting to be flattened.

To make everything perfect, Sirius had answered to Harry's letter, in which he'd asked him to come to the game, and said he'd have a day off that very Saturday.

And so it was that, as soon as Harry and the team had had their breakfast, they went down to the Quidditch pitch. On their way there, they ran straight into a huge black dog that transformed immediately into Harry's godfather.

"Sirius! It's so good to see you," Harry managed to say before Sirius crushed him in another bear hug and ruffled his hair.

Ginny giggled. And the rest of the team didn't fare much better.

"You're suffocating the Seeker, Mr Black," she said.

"Yeah, if you don't mind, could you delay that until after the game?" Ron sniggered, as Harry extricated himself from Sirius' hug and tried to reasonably flatten his hair.

"Sirius!"

He only smirked. "Sorry, couldn't resist. Besides, when I was forced to be Snuffles over longer periods of time none of you could resist ruffling _my_ hair, if I remember correctly."

"Point taken."

"I thought you liked it," Ginny said, blushing quite furiously as if it had occurred to her that very moment that Snuffles, although looking like an oversized dog, was actually a human man.

"Who wouldn't?" Sirius asked, raising his eyebrows for a moment, and Ginny blushed even more.

"Ahem. Sirius, you get yourself a girlfriend your age. This girl is mine," Harry said, snatching Ginny around the waist.

"And what a pity it is, isn't it, Miss Weasley?" Sirius winked at Harry.

Harry wouldn't have believed that Ginny could go that crimson if he hadn't seen it with his own eyes, but she was clearly fighting back laughter just like everyone else, including Harry.

"I think we'd better hurry," said Hermione, nervously glancing at her watch.

"Yeah, sure," said Harry. "Come on, let's go. Oh, and Hermione? Don't ruffle 'Snuffles' too much, even though he's Sirius now."

"Especially when he's Sirius," Ron corrected, mock-jealously glowering at both Sirius and Hermione.

"I'll try to restrain myself. After all, he's no Lockhart," Hermione said dryly, while Sirius chuckled.

"I don't think they'd let me join the victory party afterwards if I robbed the cradle," he said to Hermione.

"Cradle?" she repeated indignantly.

"I wonder what this mysterious Elizabeth would say to that," Harry said pointedly.

"I'm a complete saint," said Sirius—but didn't look it in the slightest.

Fifteen minutes later, after a very short pep-talk à la Wood courtesy of Harry's, the team found themselves down at the pitch, ready to win their first game. 

"And here's the Hufflepuff team! Captain Moon in front, followed by his fellow Chasers Branstone and Whitby, the fabulous Beaters Madley and Derek, Keeper O'Leary and second-year William Snatch," Owen Cauldwell screamed himself hoarse as he praised the Hufflepuff team (but wasn't too unkind to the Gryffindors either), "who hopefully won't let his admiration for Gryffindor Captain and Seeker Harry Potter overcome his resolve to catch the Snitch himself."

Harry had the grace to throw an unnerved glance in the random direction of where Cauldwell's voice was coming from, announcing the Gryffindors.

"—and thus they have two Weasleys on the team now, as well as two Creeveys—nothing new there—MacDonald and Brandon make the team complete."

"Gin, listen up… Erm… Here." Ron handed Harry's old Firebolt to Ginny. "You're the Chaser. You've got to be faster than I. I've always done well enough on your broomstick."

A smile blossomed all over Ginny's face as she exchanged broomsticks with her brother. "Thanks, Ron. You don't mind, Harry, do you?"

"Not at all. It's only Hufflepuff, but we're going to flatten them."

"Ready? On my whistle," said Madam Hooch and blew said whistle loudly as she threw the Quaffle high up in the air, where it was immediately caught by Ginny who was off towards the Hufflepuff hoops within the blink of an eye. On Harry's old Firebolt, she wasn't much more than a fiery-haired blur swishing across the pitch.

The Hufflepuff Chasers were not really a match for Ginny, Nat and Jamie. After what could hardly have been more than twenty minutes, Gryffindor was eighty points in the lead. However, as of yet, there had not been a glimpse of the Snitch…

**~*~*~**

Sariss had decided to watch the game even though Slytherin wasn't playing. It would be fun anyway. A nice distraction from the visit she'd paid to Rick and Rory earlier this morning. It seemed she simply couldn't overcome the thought that she should have protected them. A severe case of survivor's guilt—and that when Sariss hadn't even been there. 

She'd been standing at the cliff again, afterwards, thinking that she'd merely have to jump to end it all… But that would be cowardly. On the other hand, it seemed Sariss didn't have the guts to end it herself either. So she wouldn't. After all, in addition of not wanting to be a coward to the world, there was still Dumbledore. And there was Hagrid, too. And for some reason, Sariss's subconscious desperately wanted to add Snape to that list of people… So, hypothetically, she had three, respectively four, reasons not to end it—no, it were four, respectively five. She'd temporarily forgotten the fourth, respectively fifth, one, the one that kept her going. It needed to be thought of solitarily.

Revenge.

It was not good for her state of mind to have any of those thoughts. Why wasn't the game beginning already?

Sariss waited while the stands filled slowly with excited students. She started feeling better.

It must have been merely a minute before the game would start when there was a little commotion and the Slytherin House team took their seats in the front row. They'd be watching Gryffindor play to plan their strategies against them as soon as that match would be on. It would be a while.

And then the person Sariss still wasn't too sure what to make of swept along the stands like an oversized bat and came right towards her.

_Oh, dear, don't think about the dream. Just don't think about it!_

**Oh, yes, don't think about 'My name is Severus'. Don't think about his hands on your skin, his body against yours, his—**

_It was only a dream!_

**Not merely _a_ dream. Several ones.**

_It were merely _several_ dreams then. Dreams!_

**But the kiss under the mistletoe wasn't a dream.**

_That was only that cursed mistletoe!_

**Was it now?**

_Oh, shut up already._

"Here to watch the game?" Snape asked.

**Isn't that obvious?**

"Yes, indeed." **How could you tell, Snape?**

"May I join you?" he asked, just as Madam Hooch began the game.

"There's no law that would forbid it," Sariss replied, at the same time wishing for the dream she had to come true and wishing to be somewhere else but so close to him—which was strange, considering that they'd already watched a match together. But be that as it may, Snape's presence made her highly nervous.

_Cursed mistletoe. Oh, gods, I think I might even enjoy it if it were to happen again…_

"I didn't actually ask if there was a law. I rather wanted to know if you would allow it."

"Certainly." **I don't know! For heaven's sake, just be a git, so I can jump to my feet and make a dramatic exit!**

"Thank you," he said, sat down next to her and lapsed into silence. The Gryffindors meanwhile scored and scored. The fiery-haired Weasley girl had just sneaked the Quaffle past the Hufflepuff Keeper again, making the score ninety to ten for Gryffindor.

The Snitch was nowhere to be seen. As the clouds had shifted to reveal the sun, it would not be easy to see it anyway, since every watch and every pair of glasses or piece of jewellery glittered and blinked. Quite a distraction for the Seekers' eyes.

Sariss got up after a while and walked towards the balustrade to get a better look for the Golden Snitch. It must be somewhere. Where was it hiding?

Down on the pitch, Harry Potter had just dived and lured the little Hufflepuff Seeker into a steep dive towards the grounds. A fairly obvious Wronski Feint—well, if you weren't trying to win an almost lost game. The little boy hardly managed to stay on his broom as soon as he'd realized that he would have to stop diving if he didn't want to wake up in the infirmary a week or so later. Potter was meanwhile soaring back up, circling and scanning the pitch for the Snitch.

The score was by now one-hundred-and-seventy to twenty and the commentator, a Hufflepuff by the name of Cauldwell, didn't sound remotely as enthusiastic anymore as he had been at the beginning of the game—although Hufflepuff had just scored their third goal owing to the fact that family ties were stronger than the necessity to guard three hoops.

**~*~*~**

"Ginny! Watch that Bludger!" Ron shouted and dived away from the hoops only to be slammed into by a Bludger that had originally been aimed at Ginny.

"Ouch!" he moaned and rubbed his aching side.

Ginny looked rather exasperated. "I don't need a babysitter, Ron. I could have avoided it easily—Oh no!"

"HUFFLEPUFF SCORES!"

"You go and guard the hoops. I can take care of myself very well," she said and swerved off in direction of the Quaffle.

Ron cursed so badly; Mrs Weasley would have been scandalized. He also cursed loud enough for Harry to hear it, despite the fact that he had just flown off towards where he'd seen something golden—.

The Snitch! It was really the Snitch!

Unfortunately, Harry wasn't the only one who had seen it. He went into a dive immediately. It seemed so far away and Snatch seemed to be so much closer to it. In addition to that, the other boy was really small and much lighter than Harry. If he were flying another Firebolt II, it would have been much more obvious that he had that advantage.

The winged ball fluttered nervously up and down and from left to right as if it knew that it had been spotted.

Harry urged his broomstick on and on. _Faster! Faster!_ he kept thinking. _I've got to get to it. We cannot lose against Hufflepuff!_

Everything around him was just a blur, players, watchers, the stands; the Bludgers rushed past him in a flurry of colours as he increased speed and then, finally, felt the winged Snitch flutter against his palm.

The opponent's Seeker's hand closed on Harry's hand which held the struggling ball firmly and securely.

"Gryffindor win," said Cauldwell, sounding a bit subdued. "But hey, Will, you almost had it! Applause for William Snatch!"

"He's right," said Harry, as the two Seekers landed in the middle of the snow-covered pitch, "you almost had it. Hufflepuff might be in for the cup next year if you keep up the good work."

The little boy's face went deeply crimson as he smiled nervously, whispered a breathless "Thanks" and sped off towards the rest of his team. Meanwhile, the pitch was being invaded by cheering Gryffindors, Sirius among them, no doubt up to something like ruffling Harry's hair again. Actually, it wasn't that Harry really minded his hair being messed up; it was just that he preferred Ginny doing it…

**~*~*~**

"There's no law that would forbid it," Sariss answered when Severus had asked if he might join her in watching the game.

"I didn't actually ask if there was a law. I rather wanted to know if you would allow it."

"Certainly." She sounded a bit forced. Why was that?

_Has my memory so deteriorated? I can't seem to remember that we had a row or something…_

**It hasn't. No row.**

_Well, then I guess it's just one of those days, huh?_

Severus sat down anyway. She said nothing. Her mind seemed to be with the game, as, after a while, she got up and leaned over the balustrade again, straining to get a better look despite the fact that her view must have been constantly blocked by students having the same idea.

The sun was coming out and Severus's gaze was caught by her rippling hair. This time—unlike during the Ravenclaw versus Slytherin game where it had been drenched with rainwater—it shimmered beautifully. It came alive in the sunlight, sparkling in all shades of brownish red; some strands seemed like fire woven into her hair.

Severus could see her profile clearly. Like a doll. Those large eyes that he'd seen blazing with anger and red and bright with tears already… The small, faintly pointed nose, the luscious lips he had already brushed with his, their reddish pink colour sharply contrasting with her pallor… 

Every passing day, he more wanted to repeat that action than anything else he could think of. He wanted that sweet softness that was her mouth. Every passing hour, his longing for the gentle, almost timid, touch of her lips on his cheek seemed to increase.

What he wouldn't give to relive that moment again…

It seemed to be madness that, every time he laid eyes upon her, he wanted her so much to come closer again…

No matter how much he tried to fight it, it seemed that he couldn't fight this feeling anymore. Did he even want to fight it any longer?

**Next chapter:**

Sariss loses control, runs to Dumbledore and speaks of the past—a lot.


	11. Beneath The Surface

**Author's note: **As always, I'm sending BIG thanks to **Blaise**, who is simply the best. Thanks also go to Finland where **Butterfly** will hopefully soon be reading this… (Butterfly, I wouldn't recommend locking up certain people in a closet… Not yet. Let's not be so hasty.  *winks*)

Chapter 10: Beneath the Surface

**_There's something inside me that pulls beneath the surface  
Consuming, confusing  
This lack of self control I fear is never ending  
Controlling, I can't seem  
To find myself again_**

**_My walls are closing in_******

_—Linkin Park: Crawling_

"A good day to you," Sariss said as soon as she'd entered the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. "Please sit down and set up your quill and parchment if you haven't already thought of it. You will have no need of your books today."

The students looked a bit confused at that. Apparently, they hadn't expected something like that. After all, she hadn't scheduled a practical lesson for today…

"This will be no practical lesson. Today's lesson will cover a wide range of subjects—nonetheless they'll have one thing in common. They all focus on fighting the Dark Arts. To fight them you must know what they are. I have been informed that you've already had some experience with the Unforgivable Curses, so I trust that this lesson will go much more smoothly than I expected it to go." She scanned the faces of the students. "If we have some time left after this, we'll try to start on Aurors and what their duties are. However, I don't think we'll get to that today. So," she smiled, "you might just use the opportunity to prepare yourselves a little for next lesson… After all, you're about to leave school for good and should start thinking about what you're going to do after you've passed your N.E.W.Ts with reasonably good marks, hopefully…" she drawled and gave a small smirk.

Some of the students smiled. Draco Malfoy did not.

"All right then. Enough of this introduction. Let's get started. Who can name all three of the Unforgivable Curses?"

She scanned the students who had raised their hands. Of course Hermione Granger would know it. If Sariss let her speak now, she might as well let her take over the lesson right away. This girl had great potential…

"Yes, Mr. Thomas?"

"The Cruciatus, Imperius and the Killing curse—Avada Kedavra," Dean Thomas spoke. He uttered the incantation hastily, as though he was afraid that only by saying those words the people around him would start falling dead to the ground.

"Well done, Mr. Thomas. Five points for Gryffindor for that answer—and don't be scared. It takes much more power and, above all, practice to cast those curses properly. So there's no need to be scared to name them. You should never be frightened to call something—or someone—by their proper name, even if it's Voldemort." She watched some of the students flinch as she said _his_ name. And she had to admit it made her shudder, too—but for different reasons…

"Now, why do we call those spells 'curses' in the first place? And why are they counted among the Dark Arts? After all, there are other ways to kill or hurt someone, ways much more satisfying for the one who kills another person…" 

She noticed with a satisfied sneer, that she had the students' rapt attention.

"All right, then. The Dark Arts. Perhaps you'd like to take some notes on this, you know, for your N.E.W.Ts," she drawled. 

"Ready? Here goes… The Dark Arts differ from other forms of magic only in the intent of the wizard using them. Most magic in itself is relatively neutral—it can be used for good or evil. It's our choices that decide whether the magic we use is Dark or not. Some magic, however, is Evil in its intention through and through." 

Sariss was aware that her voice had an edge to it as she told this to her students; but it was necessary. They needed to have this imprinted into their souls. Even the Slytherins. Above all the Slytherins. Who knew how many of them would become Death Eaters despite the best efforts every teacher in this school undertook to prevent them from choosing the Dark Side. She would have liked to deny it, but it was the truth: There were almost no Dark wizards that hadn't been in Slytherin—which didn't mean to say that all Slytherins had to become Dark wizards. Sariss had known good examples for this…

She continued, "Spells of this kind are often called curses to distinguish them from simple charms or hexes, that may cause some discomfort but do no serious damage. Curses are spells that are all too often intended to cause harm to another person. This intention to do harm places that spell into the realm of the Dark Arts. However, simply casting a Curse spell doesn't mean that a person is using the Dark Arts. Ultimately, the deep, true intention of the caster is what makes the difference." At that the students started to whisper to their classmates.

She cleared her throat.

"Silence, please!" Sariss commanded after several seconds when the whispers hadn't subside on their own. 

"Miss O'Hara, Miss Parkinson… After I've finished my lecture you may ask anything you wish about what I just told you—but not now. I think I am going to answer many of your questions during my lecture already. Now if you could kindly lend me some your precious attention…" The murmurs subsided after a few more seconds. "Thank you."

It was unnerving. Malfoy stared at her with those pale-grey eyes of his in a way that made her feel highly uncomfortable. She drew her eyes away from his.

"Right. Now, how to decide what is light and what is Dark magic… This is a very difficult distinction to make in many cases. That's why understanding the difference between acceptable and Dark Magic is of key importance for witches and wizards in training, which is why Defence Against the Dark Arts is such an important class for students at Hogwarts. Other schools have a reputation for teaching the Dark Arts, not simply _Defence Against_ the Dark Arts. However, we do _not_. We learn to defend ourselves. We do not just attack and destroy. We try to preserve, to create even. To protect life and not bring death if we can help it." Sariss took a deep breath, then continued in her usual quiet but clearly audible voice.

"The typical Dark spell is called a Curse. There are offensive spells that shoot out of the wand like a gun; curse energy causes physical damage to things it hits besides the magical effect. Hexes and jinxes are lesser spells that adversely affect the target. As you've already learnt—hopefully—these spells are not necessarily Dark Magic. It's the intention of the caster that makes them Dark, evil… However, Dark magic consists of more than simply curses. Above all, it contains spells that involve tampering with the free will of another person, or torture or even kill another person. Those curses would be considered Dark magic indeed." She paused. "You already know those curses. However, for the purpose of revision, I will explain them once more to you in a few minutes. Before we come to that, there's something else to add to the subject of Dark magic… Lord Voldemort—" (Many students flinched again…) "…spent years in magical research into ways of becoming immortal. This pursuit is also an example of Dark magic, presumably because it tampers with the natural order of things. You must never interfere with the intentions of nature. Life and Death form a circle that must not be messed around with. Never ever. Not even if you are of the opinion you'd set a wrong right by doing this. You can't set wrongs right by doing something wrong. Do you understand?"

The class was silent, except for the scratching of quills and the rustling of parchment. Some students looked up and nodded slightly. Others swallowed.

"Now that we settled this, let's jump right into the Darkest of all Arts, as they are considered by many people, the Unforgivables themselves. 

I think we should start with the Imperius Curse. The incantation is 'Imperio'; it is derived from the Latin word 'imperare' of which the first person singular is 'impero.' It means 'to order, govern; to command.' Most of the spells that are based on Latin words are very old ones that have been used for centuries, some of them even for thousands of years. The Imperius Curse basically causes its victim to be completely under the command of the caster, who can make them do anything they wish. Anything at all. People have tortured, maimed and killed their loved ones—their children, wives, husbands, friends… It's not easy to fight this curse. Many wizards can't withstand it at all—Mr. Weasley? Do you have something to add that could prove interesting for all of us to hear?" she asked, as she had noticed that Ronald Weasley had nudged Harry Potter in the ribs to get his attention and whispered something to him.

The poor boy blushed furiously. His face turned almost as red as his hair. "No… er… well… It's just that… Harry can… He can withstand it… quite well, actually, can't you, Harry?"

At that Harry Potter, too, blushed an embarrassed shade of red. Obviously the boy wasn't as fond of the attention that was paid to him as the _Daily Prophet_ liked to express on a regular basis…

"Really?"

Harry Potter nodded, pressing his lips tightly together.

"I shall take your word for this. I don't think it would be a good idea to cast any Unforgivable in here without seeking the Headmaster's counsel first… However, if you'd like to demonstrate…"

"I'd rather not," Potter whispered, throwing a nervous glance in her direction. Unbelievable! This boy was actually shy! How come she had been teaching him for quite some time now but never noticed this? It was almost as though he wished he weren't the famous Harry Potter…

"I won't force anyone of you to do something you don't want to do. There's no need to try and keep a low profile in my lessons… After all, that wouldn't be of much use anyway…" she trailed off.

"Interesting… Well, where were we? Yes… It is very hard to fight the Imperius Curse. Particularly hard it is to fight it when you are being given the order to do something you would like to do but would never dare to do under normal circumstances. Those are moments when you can't tell that your thoughts are not your own. And that is another aspect of why this curse is so dangerous when cast on you." She pushed a loose strand of hair out of her face once again.

"Let's continue with the Cruciatus Curse. The incantation is 'Crucio.' Its basis is the Latin word for 'to torment,' which is what the Cruciatus Curse basically does. It inflicts terrible, almost intolerable pain on its victim—however, it leaves no visible injuries except those the victims cause for themselves, such as biting down on their lips or digging their fingernails into the palms of their hands to keep themselves from screaming…" She suddenly noticed that her voice had dropped to a whisper. Oh, yes, she had seen many people who had suffered this curse. The worst case she'd ever laid eyes upon had been that of the Longbottoms; she had known Frank Longbottom once, when he had still been an Auror—and he had been good at what he'd done… not anymore. "If the caster intends it to be so, he can inflict such pain onto his victims that the prolonged use of this curse drives them insane—the mind shuts down because it can't bear it anymore, can't take any more of this…"

Sariss paused once again to take a closer look at the students—Neville Longbottom in particular. The boy was sitting there, wide-eyed, his hand that held the quill trembling slightly as he finished taking his notes. She admired his composure. A true Gryffindor he was deep inside; if his parents had lived happily ever after, perhaps he wouldn't have been so timid and fearful. She suddenly wondered if he had a girlfriend—he was handsome and polite… a nice and friendly boy, who had lost his parents at a time he had needed them most—too young to grasp fully what had happened, too old already to forget that one day they had been there, the next they had been gone…

She cleared her throat, trying to force back the memories that were pressing in on her.

"Now, here comes the Darkest and worst of the Unforgivable Curses. In my opinion, it is _the_ Unforgivable. Avada Kedavra—the curse that made it far too easy to kill. It is a very old curse, ancient even. It must have been developed thousands of years ago—it is at least two thousand years old, most likely much older. The word 'Abracadabra' is a cabbalistic charm in Judaic mythology that is supposed to bring healing powers—not quite the intention of Avada Kedavra in modern times; but it is one of the spell's sources nonetheless. Another one is the Phoenician alphabet which is called a-bra-ca-dabra." She pronounced it slowly and carefully. "But the most important source lies in a language that is very well-known among Christian scholars—Aramaic. The very language Jesus Christ spoke. Anyway, this is not of great significance here… In Aramaic Avada Kedavra translates literally as 'Let the thing be destroyed.' The translation makes it quite clear, if you ask me, that you don't have to overcome any opposing emotions you might feel when you cast it—you're only 'destroying a thing'—that's what the curse says. It takes quite some guts to kill someone with your bare hands. Avada Kedavra, however, is simple, a clean curse, no blood, no mess; the curse is cast, the victim drops to the ground, soundlessly, looking as though he were asleep…" She took a deep breath. Memories, evil memories. She would have done anything to get rid of them. "The green light of Avada Kedavra means instant death. There's no counter curse; no way to overcome it… And as it happens to be, we have the only person ever to survive the _un_blockable, _instant-death-bringing_ curse, right in our midst." 

Sariss looked at Harry Potter who seemed as if he would have dearly liked to transfigure himself into something very small that could slip out of the room unseen…

But suddenly he spoke up. "How was this possible at all? I mean, I know my mother… died protecting me—but the curse isn't regarded as an unblockable one for nothing, is it?" It was hard for him to ask this, even after such a long time; Sariss could see this clearly written on his face. He was like an open book; everything he felt showed so clearly on his face as though it had been painted right onto his face, his eyes…

"I'm afraid I don't know the answer to your question. What happened to you will most likely prove to be an eternal mystery, never to be explained… I'm sorry. I can't help you with this, either," she added at the expression on his face.

"The casting of the curse does not only affect its victim," she continued her lesson. "It also affects its caster. The more the caster uses it the more he loses himself in Darkness and the harder is it for him to turn his back to it and come back into the light."

Pansy Parkinson had raised her hand, as Sariss had said this. "Yes?" Sariss nodded, prompting her to speak up.

The girl cleared her throat and then asked, "How? I mean—how does Avada Kedavra affect its caster?"

"Every time you use Avada Kedavra, it takes a part of yourself away and replaces it with a tiny little bit of Darkness. The more Darkness you gather the harder it becomes for the Goodness in you to fight it, until one day, there might be no turning back anymore," Sariss answered quietly. "So perhaps it is better not to learn how to cast it at all."

**~*~*~**

"…perhaps it is better not to learn how to cast it at all."

"Have you ever used it?" Seamus Finnegan asked after he'd raised his hand so he'd be allowed to speak. Professor Ravon nodded.

"Yes. Once."

Harry swallowed. This woman had actually killed someone? Using Avada Kedavra? He could hardly believe what he heard. She was so… well… nice. A Slytherin—but… nice…

"What was it like?" Seamus asked curiously. He seemed intrigued by the idea that he could ask someone about things like this, who'd had a first-hand experience; after all, most of their former DADA teachers hadn't had that… especially not in this area. And no one had thought of asking Moody. Harry guessed that Moody had used the curse as well, the way he'd acted all the time. However, if the real Moody had cast it, he couldn't really tell, but the impostor had. The late Barty Crouch, Death Eater that he had been.

Harry involuntarily wondered if she had been a Death Eater once… But he dismissed the thought again—she might give the impression that it was not unthinkable, but she was just too nice for this… And if he had still had any doubts about her, her answer would have confirmed them as totally unfounded.

"If you have a single sane fibre in your body, you won't ever cast it again if you can help it. It does not only take your victim's life—it also changes you. I don't ever want to be forced to cast it again. That's why I quit and became your teacher."

Malfoy spoke up, without even raising his hand first. "Why? Didn't it feel… _good_?" Harry was shocked at the tone in Malfoy's voice. It was so cold, so full of malevolence… Harry exchanged somewhat horrified glances with Ron and Hermione who wore equally shocked expressions on their faces, as he himself must have worn at that moment. And this wasn't even a real question. Seamus had already asked what it had felt like… No, this was an insult, cleverly disguised in a question. It would have been a subtle insult if Malfoy hadn't paused dramatically and emphasized the word 'good' in such a sneering way that he might as well have openly accused her of murder.

Professor Ravon, however, only narrowed her eyes and looked at him.

She placed her palms flat on the teacher's desk and stated very calmly, "You don't know what you're talking about, Mr. Malfoy."

"I know more than you think. I know many things…" he said, his usual sneer quite firmly in place. And very quietly he continued—but Harry could still understand him as he, Ron and Hermione were sitting close-by—"…about you."

**~*~*~**

"Didn't it feel… _good_?"

_Malfoy. I should have known he'd bring this up one day or the other. His father must have told him the details. It's always the same with these Malfoys. You know one of them—you know them all._

Oh, yes. The very instant Seth Malfoy had been hit with the Killing Curse she'd flung his way—it had felt good. Too good. Revenge always felt good. He had killed her best friends. He had killed the two people who had become a family to her, the brother and sister she never had, the two people she'd felt good with, the two people that always stood by her side ignoring or even accepting the sometimes upsetting or even frightening things that happened around her—things she caused. But they would never do so again… only because they'd been sent to take care of that particular Death Eater attack that had cost so many innocent lives—Muggle and Wizard. 

They had been a team. Rick, Aurora and Sariss. The three of them had gotten out of every single mission successful and unscathed. It had always been the three of them—until the teams were split up, leaving only two Aurors to each team. Sariss had teamed up with Mundungus Fletcher, who was still sort of an old friend.

And only a few weeks later, Rick and Rory were no more…

After this incident, the Aurors had been given permission to use the Unforgivables. By some people this was considered a privilege, a dangerous privilege at times, but also necessary since the Death Eaters had seemingly agreed not to take any prisoners anymore for questioning purposes or something like that. They just Apparated, killed—sometimes when they felt like it they tortured before killing—invoked the Dark Mark and Disapparated again.

The Ministry had to work fast to try and prevent the worst. The Death Eaters were seemingly no longer caring if they survived or died. They rather died than letting themselves get caught, and thus they were casting Avada Kedavra numerous times. Unblockable curses, which you could only dodge, while they blocked the Stunning and Disarming spells you sent their way easily.

Sariss wished she had been there sooner, to protect her friends the night that particular attack occurred. She would have saved them. They'd still be alive… And she could have been sure that the reason for which she later on cast the curse had not been… revenge… That it was well done, as her superiors had told her over and over again. "You saved lives by using the curse, Ravon," Harker had said. But she hadn't saved the lives she had wanted to save earlier…

She'd always known that this friendship was as necessary as the air in her lungs; she'd needed their reassurance as a child, the knowledge of having someone to talk to—someone apart from people who were already grown up and had to deal with other things; things more important than the worries of a teenager who didn't have enough control over her magical abilities. She couldn't have run to Dumbledore on every single occasion now, could she? And they had always been there…

Until this very day, she'd been asking herself if it had really been necessary to kill him that way. Couldn't she just have reached out with her powers and smashed him to the ground or into a wall or anything? Then they could have taken him prisoner perhaps… And she wouldn't have had to live with the knowledge that she was a killer, a presumably cold-blooded killer… 

Not that she hadn't killed before. When you were an Auror, it was inevitable that you killed a Death Eater from time to time. That was something Sariss could cope with fairly easily. She had thrown them against walls or into the line of their fellow Death Eaters' curses.

Only this once she had uttered the incantation. The incantation that made her guilty. Guilty of casting an Unforgivable Curse.

Did it make that much of a difference that she as an Auror during these Dark times had had the license to use it under extreme circumstances? Did it make a difference that if any other person had cast it, they would have spent the rest of their miserable lives in Azkaban, when she wouldn't, only because there was the license? Wasn't the license only an excuse? Did it make her less guilty? 

She thought she'd stopped thinking about this after Dumbledore had asked her once if she'd change the past if she could to make his death undone. She'd answered, "I don't know." Then he'd said, "If you had said a clear 'Yes' I would have told you that you're naïve to even consider it. Who could even dare to claim the knowledge of all the consequences of a single curse? As far as we know some of us could very well not be here had things happened differently… Had you said 'No' you'd have been a hypocrite since there's no reason to feel guilty about things you don't feel sorry for. Your answer plainly stated that you keep in mind the consequences of your actions as well as what might have happened if he had lived beyond that day or rather night." He'd taken her hand after those words and squeezed it slightly. "Well, don't feel guilty. Regrets will get you nowhere. They only tend to paint the blue sky black, to hide the sun behind the thundercloud of guilt and remorse when everyone else enjoys a beautiful day. You don't need another thundercloud in your sky."

Regrets…

She placed her palms flat on the teacher's desk and stated very calmly, "You don't know what you're talking about, Mr. Malfoy."

"I know more than you think. I know many things…" he said, his usual sneer quite firmly in place. And very quietly, so quietly that it was barely audible, he continued—"…about you."

Perhaps it was the way he said it… Somehow, she knew that he was not joking; that he might indeed know something even if she herself did not really know what exactly that was. "Then you know more than I know, Mr. Malfoy," she stated in a very controlled voice; she thought she felt her blood rushing through her veins, heard her pulse roaring like thunder in her ears. His tone of voice made her shiver—and in the case of Sariss Ravon, that was quite an achievement. She could not only sense the menace, she could hear it, too.

Malfoy sneered and stared right back into her eyes. It was a duel. Whoever broke eye contact first would lose—and both of them knew it…

**~*~*~**

It was as if her face were a mask; she moved not a muscle; her eyes were wide open, fixed on a point somewhere in the air in front of her, somewhere between her and Draco Malfoy. Harry could see her eyes clearly and—as often as he'd seen them—for the first time he noticed that they had a very… _peculiar_ colour… The way they looked in this particular lighting… That's why it felt as though she were looking right through the people around her. They were of a light green, with a bit of brown around the pupils, framed by a thin rim of grey as if it were there to keep the green from leaking out… Eyes, that looked as though they could hypnotise, that could lock themselves with yours and make you unable to look away…

But still, something was wrong…

A muscle in her cheek twitched slightly… Professor Ravon blinked several times and then spoke in a somewhat shaky voice, "Mr Malfoy, perhaps it would be better if—" 

And suddenly Malfoy's inkbottle trembled—the ink inside of it started to boil—and it shattered into a million pieces. A few small ones hit Malfoy in the face and drew a bit of blood—but it was nothing serious. Harry could see that even from where he was. Professor Ravon looked as shaken as Malfoy and whispered "Oh, my goodness…" Then she rushed out through the doorway muttering, "Class dismissed—Essay on Unforgivables—12 inches—due Monday." 

The lesson had been almost over anyway.

Why did it seem impossible for them to get taught DADA by a—in wizarding standards—_normal_ teacher? Was it a wizarding character trait to be surrounded by riddles and strange occurrences? Harry thought and exchanged curious, questioning, glances with Ron and Hermione as he stuffed his parchment and quill into his book bag.

All of them turned her heads as they heard Draco Malfoy whisper to Crabbe and Goyle, "She's going to regret this. I'll get her back for this…" Becoming aware that he was being stared at, he turned to face Harry and the others and sneered, "What are you looking at?" 

"Nothing," Harry provided the standard answer to a question like this.

"You'd better watch your back, too, Potter…" Malfoy trailed off, an undertone in his voice that made it all too clear that this was not intended to be an empty threat. After all, he was a Death Eater—Harry had to keep reminding himself of this again and again. It had been clear for years that this would happen, but when he had seen Malfoy's initiation in his dream he could hardly believe that it really happened…

Malfoy sneered, and then, giving Harry a meaningful glare, he swept out of the room, Crabbe and Goyle trailing after him…

**~*~*~**

Sariss rushed along the corridors, up and down the staircases, not knowing where she was going at all. Too many thoughts raced through her mind…

Suddenly she found herself standing in front of the stone gargoyle guarding Dumbledore's office. The corridors and staircases seemed to have led her there. Yes, perhaps it would be a good idea to talk to him; it had always been a good idea to talk to him when something like this happened…

What had been the password? She knew that it must be floating around her mind somewhere, but she couldn't think clearly; she was too confused… Perhaps he'd changed it today. It had been quite some time since he'd changed it last time, after all…

"Chocolate Frog?" Obviously not.

"Sugar Quill. Liquorice Wand, Butterbeer…" No, no and no.

"Fizzing Whizzbees."

"Jelly Belly Beans?" Dumbledore favoured the names of Muggle sweets after all…

"Sherbet Lemon?" No, of course not. That was an old one…

"Popcorn?" she asked tentatively, not really convinced that this was a possibility at all. Nothing—as had been expected. _Come on, Sariss, be creative…_

"Canary Creams?" Perhaps he used one of the Weasley brothers' inventions… 

"Ton-Tongue Toffees." That wasn't it either…

"Ginny Gems?" No. This was getting ridiculous.

_Now, if this doesn't work I'll just sit down and wait till he comes down for dinner…_

"Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes!" she said as firmly as she could; the volume of her voice had increased with each failed attempt…

And suddenly the gargoyle moved to the side to let her pass. 

**If those boys knew that their joke-shop's already famous enough for the headmaster to use its brand for a password…**

Sariss walked up a few steps and then waited for the staircase to lift her up. After a few seconds, she found herself at the top, in front of Dumbledore's office door. She lifted her hand to knock and noticed that it was still trembling slightly. 

_Stay calm, Sariss, control, control… _

But before she could knock a voice from inside answered already, "What are you waiting for? Come in, please."

She opened the door, cautiously peering inside. How had he known that someone had been standing in front of the door in the first place?

Dumbledore smiled and stood up as she entered. Fawkes the Phoenix was perched on his usual post behind Dumbledore's desk, gleaming in every possible shade of red and gold, rustling his feathers and making a sound that could be interpreted as a greeting. "Hullo, Fawkes," Sariss whispered.

"I almost went down and opened the entrance for you," Dumbledore said now. "I would have given you and the other staff members my new password at dinner. I changed it only an hour or so ago… However, I think this won't be necessary anymore. The whole school should know by now."

"I'm sorry." Had she shouted that loudly?

"It's not a problem. The most secret things tend to be known by the most people—especially when in Hogwarts…" He was funny sometimes; one couldn't deny him a certain subtle sense of humour…

"That wasn't really what I meant—I think," Sariss answered, banishing the smile he'd managed to draw on her face.

"What happened?" Dumbledore asked now, concern clearly audible in his voice.

"I lost control," she admitted. Then, with a heavy sigh, she added, "Again."

He nodded gravely. "I think you'd better sit down…" he said and indicated for her to sit down in one of the armchairs in his office…

**~*~*~**

"I think you'd better sit down," Dumbledore said, pointing at a fluffy armchair by the fireplace, willing the still trembling DADA mistress to sit down and moved to sit down in the other armchair for himself.

_Perhaps it would be a good idea… Yes. Tea. Tea would be nice. She has always liked it…_

Thus, Dumbledore quickly summoned a House Elf—it was Dobby—who, within a matter of seconds returned with a tray laden with a large pot of tea, two teacups and a plate filled with chocolate and mint cookies. At his nod, Dobby disappeared with an audible crack, but not without throwing a pitying glance in Sariss's direction who sat slumped in the chair…

Dumbledore poured her a cup of tea and offered her the plate with the cookies. She shook her head (when had she ever declined her favourite chocolate-mint cookies?), but accepted the teacup.

"It's happened again," she spoke up. "It's getting worse; I can feel it." 

"What happened?"

"In class," she began. "I was teaching about Dark magic and the Unforgivables, you know, and it went quite well. The students were interested and asking questions, discussing among themselves—until Draco Malfoy, that little—sorry, Professor—." 

"What is it with you and the Malfoys?"

"I don't know. Might be their smug arrogance, their way of worming their way out of everything that has to do with the Dark Arts…"

"They always were associated with the Dark Arts. That's where their wealth comes from."

"Greedy lot."

"Yes, hungry for wealth and power they have always been. And now that young Mr Malfoy has come of age, he must follow in his father's footsteps…" Dumbledore said. "But I interrupted your report. Please continue your explanations…"

"Yes. Well, Malfoy spoke up and actually asked if I had _liked_ casting an Unforgivable. That… _boy_… actually had the nerve to ask if I had _enjoyed_ killing in such a _casual_ voice and with so much menace. And he didn't really _ask_ it. The tone of his voice made me so angry! And I told him that he had no idea what he was talking about. And then he said he knew _things_ about me. And I don't know what he meant by that. All I know is that he was not joking, Professor Dumbledore. What could he possibly know? And the look on his face. And then the inkbottle exploded right into his face. I hope I didn't… But it was as if that was not a boy looking back at me. I tell you, he is dangerous. I can sense it. It's been emanating clearly recognizably from him all year and it's gotten worse."

"I know. He's a Death Eater."

"How do you know?"

"I have my sources," he answered evasively.

"What kind of sources?" she asked cautiously.

"Spies and something like that."

"Who?"

"I can't tell you, Sariss. It's dangerous enough as it is. Too many people knowing about too many others—" 

"If one of them were to be caught they could be forced to tell everything they know…" _Of course._

**It was worth a try. Knowledge is power, after all, isn't it?**

"Yes."

"I understand. Trust no one, is it?"

"Exactly. You of all people should be aware of the importance that this war must be fought in secret. We can't fight Voldemort openly. He has too many followers, although that may not seem so. Yet, the wizards who stand against him are mostly civilians, people who are more worried about the safety of their families and friends than about fighting. Instead of fighting, they hide, which is very wise of them. Too many lives have been lost already. Every single one of us has to find their own way to fight the evil that has befallen us."

"How am I supposed to fight against the Dark Side any longer when I can't even control the powers _he_ _fed to me_?"

"I think you've lived by the dictum of _Know Thine Enemy_ long enough. Don't you think it's time to go by the well known Latin phrase Temet nosce?"

"Know thyself? I know who I am." She paused, the realization dawning on her that in fact she did not—not really. Then: "I know what I am. I am dangerous, more dangerous than the Dark Lord's whole army could ever be. I could destroy this castle with a snap of my fingers if I wanted to. Are you aware of that? One slip of control…" she added. She had an expression on her young face that she of all people didn't deserve to be able to bring about as easily as that, the old man thought compassionately.

She seemed to ponder something now, her expression growing thoughtful. Then she spoke again, quietly, pensively, "Professor?" The old man nodded at her, willing her to go on. "Have I ever given you the impression that I'm… I don't know… that I'm… cold? I mean, not physically but emotionally—like I didn't feel anything…" she trailed off, at a loss for words that she could use to express herself more clearly. Then: "Am I… heartless?"

Dumbledore understood. "My dear, we both know that 'tis not so. You've just grown so accustomed to having to restrain your powers that you included your feelings in this, too."

"You mean I'm too scared to lose control to feel anything?"

"That's not quite what I meant," Dumbledore answered. "You're only too scared to lose control to let your feelings show. You suppress them out of habit if I dare say so openly, because it hurts you if you don't. I've known you long enough to tell you that quite openly, I think. I wouldn't want to make you angry—for my own safety I wouldn't dare that," he said lightly with a twinkle in his eyes and a mischievous smile on his lips. "You're a tinge too sensible for your own good; you think too much with that little head of yours there." He rested the tip of his index finger on her forehead, still smiling. "And then, when it really counts, you don't think and get carried away with your so very suppressed emotions instead."

Sariss just had to smile back but turned her face slightly away from his penetrating gaze.

"See?" He gently tipped up her chin so she looked up at him. "As long as someone manages to bring that smile out of the depth of your soul, you can't be cold inside your heart."

She sighed; the smile was fading already. It was replaced by a very sombre and sad expression. "It's just that… Sometimes I feel so empty and it makes me so sad and so angry…" she whispered, closing her eyes tightly.

The teacup Dumbledore had put before her started trembling and shattered into pieces…

**~*~*~**

_CRASH!_

Sariss flinched at the sound; burying her face in her hands, she uttered a muffled "I'm sorry." That said she moved to get up, intending to return to her rooms—perhaps getting a potion first that would let her fall asleep fast so she didn't have to lie awake pondering another of those little accidents that tended to happen when she got 'emotional' as Dumbledore had put it once when she'd caused a crack in the enchanted ceiling in the Great Hall…

~*~

It had happened in Sariss's seventh year at Hogwarts. She had come to hate Malfoy, Rosier and Wilkes with a passion after all they had done to make her life miserable. Didn't they have enough Gryffindors to tease and annoy?

"Well, well, well, why so alone, ice lady?" 

"Drop dead, Malfoy." Over the years that had become Sariss's way of greeting her least favourite person. Well, the least favourite person to personally get on her nerves.

"No need to be rude." Sariss rolled her eyes and groaned. If only there were more people in the Great Hall. If only she hadn't been so early for lunch. If only Rick or Rory had chosen Arithmancy. As it was, they had a very long way from North Tower to the Great Hall.

"Alright, Malfoy. What do you want?" she asked, annoyed. Why wouldn't this obnoxious git just leave her alone? And in addition to that, Rosier and Wilkes were standing by, sneering, enjoying themselves for no particular reason or so it seemed. Their expressions and the atmosphere around them made her feel uncomfortable. _They are up to something…_

She had hardly finished this thought when she heard Malfoy mutter something; a spell, she presumed.

And suddenly something started wriggling on her head. "What? What have you done this time?" Sariss asked, exasperated. _If one didn't know better, one would think they were ten-year-olds_…

She started getting worried when something hissed and slithered down in front of her face. A pair of eyes looked at her and the head it belonged to hissed, "Hello, lovely one…"

"Malfoy!" she screeched, startled at the fact that the snake actually seemed to be capable of human speech, more furious than scared that he had transfigured her hair… And thus, she gave Malfoy a glare that could have made hell freeze over. "Turn it back!" she hissed, baring her teeth at him, so angry that she didn't seem to be capable to think clearly. The snake still looked curiously at her. "Turn it back!"

The few people around her stared at her as she looked around for someone to help her. A few fellow students had just entered but they all stood frozen to the spot, only staring at her. No one moved, no one said anything at all. It was completely silent, so very silent.

Sariss was thunderstruck. "Malfoy! I'm so going to kill you and your cronies!" she shouted, the snakes still wriggling and slithering around. She could even hear them _talking_ about what was happening—they seemed a bit confused. It wasn't that Sariss was scared of snakes; it was just that she would dearly have liked her hair back as it always had been—she'd always considered it the best part of her—it was just that Malfoy was a complete git, an utter bastard, not worthy to be a Slytherin in her opinion. _He has no honour_, she'd always thought, _no pride, no dignity_. 

She still glared at him, growing more and more furious in her panic and fright every second that passed with them all staring at her. All of a sudden, crackling sounds could be heard. Little pieces of plaster fell down on them. Sariss looked up; a crack had appeared in the enchanted ceiling. She knew she was the one who caused this, but she couldn't make it stop.

_Too late… _

"Oh no…" she whispered, chancing a look at the other students.

"Sariss?" Rick asked cautiously from a few yards away. He and Aurora had entered the hall the moment, she'd screamed at Malfoy.

"Rick, Rory…" Sariss stuttered, inwardly breathing a sigh of relief at the sight of her friends. But they only shook their heads and whispered as one, "You're a Parseltongue." That was the moment she realized that it wasn't only that something wasn't right—no, there was something seriously wrong about all of this, about herself…

The professors, too, had finally realized that something was happening. They made their way through the throng of students that had gathered around the girl. McGonagall was first. She was out of her mind at what she saw; Sariss could tell as much from the look on her face. However, with a swift flick of her wand she turned Sariss's hair back to normal. "Dear goodness! Which one of you had this incredibly stupid idea?" she said, first scanning the crowd, then throwing a glance at the ceiling.

Sariss followed her gaze upwards again, chancing another look up at the ceiling, staring at the damage she'd caused. "Oh no…" she whispered again, tears starting to rise in her eyes.

"Miss Ravon!" Snape fought his way towards the Slytherin table. She heard his voice but seemed to be incapable of speaking or even turning her head. She kept staring at the crack, frightened, in shock at what she'd done; that she'd lost control—she'd disappointed Dumbledore… It was as if she were frozen. Yet, she felt herself tremble. 

"Miss Ravon?" Snape asked. "Are you alright?" His voice sounded so strange to her, so different, he sounded genuinely concerned.

Sariss swallowed hard and bent her head, her hair obscuring her face. Tears had started running down her cheeks. "I'm… I'm sorry," she choked and turned to run out of the Great Hall—it was too humiliating to have to cry when two or three dozens of people were watching you—but Snape held her back as McGonagall said, "You had better talk to the Headmaster about this. If I'm not mistaken he should still be in his office or at least only on his way down here…"

_If only he had been here a minute ago…_

"No word of this must leave this castle," Snape said softly. "Not even this room."

"I'll handle this," McGonagall said. "You take care of the girl."

Snape's touch was gentle and hesitant as he put one of his hands on her shoulder, took hold of her arm with the other one and turned to go, heading towards the doorway. After a few steps, however, he stopped, turned back and snarled menacingly, "Malfoy, my office, 7:30 tonight. Rosier and Wilkes, 7:45. Bring a pair of Dragonhide gloves for each of you. You'll be facing detention for this sick joke of yours! Your turn, Minerva."

At that he turned back to Sariss and said, his voice soft again and sounding surprisingly soothing, "Come on, let's go. I'll take you to the Headmaster."

He led her straight to Dumbledore's office. She was still crying softly, silently, seemingly unable to stop. She had covered her face by her hands so she didn't have to bear Rick and Rory's eyes staring back into hers when they'd still been in the Great Hall. She still had them there. "Now, stop crying already. It's not that the ceiling couldn't be fixed…" he said, a slightly annoyed tone in his voice.

"It's not that. Not really. It's… it's just… everything…" she made a small but nonetheless all-encompassing gesture and sniffed, unable to go on. She fought the urge to simply throw herself into his arms to let herself be held and comforted. It was something that Snape clearly wouldn't allow—as if Sariss herself would have been comfortable with the mere thought. Snape, of all people. You didn't let yourself be comforted by a teacher or anyone else, for that matter—not even Rick or Rory—unless the teacher in question was Professor Dumbledore—or at least so she thought. Dumbledore had become her family. She had no one else left.

And now he would have to expel her…

Snape sighed, whispered the password to the gargoyle and proceeded up the stairs, gently guiding her, as she couldn't see very well with all those tears shrouding her vision.

McGonagall caught up with them. "Those boys really overdid it this time," McGonagall whispered to Snape but Sariss could hear it.

"I wish I could object to this statement…" Snape answered in an equally low voice.

Sariss almost started when Snape knocked at the office door and Dumbledore said, "Come in!"

Snape opened the door and pushed Sariss in while McGonagall followed and closed the door.

"Headmaster," Snape said, his voice devoid of any emotion now.

"Albus. There has been a… um… an accident," McGonagall explained their intrusion.

Sariss did not look up. She could only hear the soft rustle of the Headmaster's robes as he walked around his desk. She could almost feel his eyes bore into her skull. "Sariss, I think you had better sit down for a while. I'll be with you in a few minutes."

Having said this, he walked out of his office, two sets of feet following him. The door snapped shut. Sariss thought she might as well face expulsion sitting down in a comfortable armchair. Through the door, she could hear hushed voices, but she couldn't understand what they were saying.

Somehow, the thought of being expelled in itself wasn't that horrible. It was rather the thought of having disappointed Dumbledore. She had failed him. She had tried so hard and yet she'd failed him on account of Malfoy. She should have known better than to stay in a room when he entered. But there had been teachers. Quite a distance away but anyway. There had been teachers. That he'd done it under those circumstances at all! What kind of spell had that been? Sariss had no idea. In all her studies, she hadn't come across that one. Not even in the Restricted Section. It must be serious Dark Magic. He'd surely be expelled alongside her. That was something she couldn't help but smile grimly at. He'd go down with her—after having served his detention first. Everyone knew that Snape was not lenient about detentions that were to be served. If you were ill, it was only delayed, never forgotten.

'No word of this must leave this castle,' he'd said. How were they supposed to accomplish that? Memory Charms would be highly unethical in her case. 

After a few minutes, just as Dumbledore had promised, he returned—alone—and sat down in the armchair opposite hers. She chanced a look at his face. He was looking at her intently. "So?" she asked tentatively, hating the fact that her voice was full of tears.

"So, what?" he answered.

"You're going to expel me, aren't you? I lost control; I couldn't do anything about it. He and the others, they made me so angry. This time I really messed it up… You must send me away…" She was wringing her hands furiously. They were so very cold… She sniffed and took an unsteady breath. "I'm so sorry." She started crying again and put her hands over her face.

Dumbledore sighed, took her hand, gently drew it away from her face and put a cup of tea in it. It emanated such comforting warmth… He must have conjured it up while she'd had her face buried in her hands. "Nobody is going to expel you just because you got… well… _emotional_ again. And you're not the one facing detention, or has anyone confirmed anything otherwise?"

She looked up at him, shaking her head and sniffed. He nodded encouragingly. She took a sip of the tea. It was deliciously warm and sweet; she felt better instantly.

"I'm a Parseltongue," she said. "Just like _him_."

"Yes, just like Voldemort," Dumbledore confirmed. "Another one of the powers you got from him. I wonder what else there is still to be discovered about you."

"I don't want this. I never wanted this," Sariss said, putting the empty cup back onto the tray that was sitting on the nearby table. "Please, Professor Dumbledore, can't you think of _anything_ that could be done to make this stop. I'm so very tired of all of this…"

"Dear child, we've been through this so many times already—."

The teacup shattered. Sariss flinched. "I'm sorry," she choked. "I…"

"No harm done. Nothing has been damaged beyond repair. That's what magic is used for mostly, after all—repair broken things…"

With a flick of his wand, he repaired the cup and filled it again, offering it to her once more.

"I can't walk back in there," she said, accepting the cup but not drinking. "I can't face them all. They hate me. Most of them hated me already before this happened."

"They're only a bit scared of you," he said lightly. "But there are _many_ people who accept you, _some_ people who like you; and a few people even appreciate you… As for the others… Messrs. Malfoy, Rosier and Wilkes will most certainly not prove much of a problem anymore. Severus has devised a particularly nasty detention for them. He didn't bother taking away any points." Dumbledore smiled. "After all, he'd be taking away a quite large amount of points from his own house… He'd be mad to do this. And it wouldn't teach them a lesson. This task will be much better accomplished by a few weeks of pickling and peeling quite a few barrels of acid fungi and taking good care of some extremely nasty specimens of the Venomous Tentacula. In fact, I think Professor Sprout will be more than happy to have someone else clipping and feeding them…" His eyes were twinkling so merrily as he said that that Sariss had to smile back despite the tears that were still trickling down her cheeks…

After that incident, life—surprisingly—had become very much easier—as Sariss only had to mention 'acid fungi' or 'Venomous Tentacula' and within an instant, there had been only empty space where seconds before three boys had stood. Sariss had had so much fun with Rick and Aurora joking about the mysterious disappearances of a certain annoying trio, after they had sorted out everything that had happened. They had accepted it. It had not been her fault; she had not been the one to blame. They had believed her that she had had no idea of this before the very incident in the Great Hall revealed her being a Parseltongue. 

And Malfoy, Wilkes and Rosier had been scared of her, too, because of the incident in the Great Hall. It had felt good. 

To some extent, it had felt good to be feared for a reason and not just for the sake of it…

**Next chapter:**

More, even earlier memories. Someone dreads being in love and the object of these newly found affections has another chat with Dumbledore.


	12. In My World Love Is For Poets

**Author's note:** Yay! You haven't forgotten me! Thank you, **Blaise**. No matter what, I can always count on your very much biased und thus extremely favourable *winks* opinion. Big thanks once more to our Finnish **Butterfly** *waves* and to **Charlsie** who pointed out something in Chapter 9 that might be confusing for some people. I've added a paragraph that ought to clear things up. Aren't I good to you? ;-) Oh, and thank you, **Maridale**! I hope I'll hear from you again. 

I so love writing these author's notes before the actual chapter… Anyway, first read and hopefully enjoy and then let me know that you're reading. Nothing is more frustrating than not knowing how many hits a story gets. *wants a hit counter*

Chapter 11: In My World Love is for Poets

**_In my world  
Love is for poets  
Never the famous balcony scene  
Just a dying faith  
On the heaven's gate_**

_—Nightwish: Swanheart_

"Now, no harm done," said Dumbledore gently putting a hand on her shoulder pushing her back down into the plushy armchair. "Reparo!" he shouted and with a wave of his wand restored the cup to its original form, handing it to Sariss—who took it gratefully—and poured her another cup. "Thank you." She took a sip of her tea.

"Suddenly I don't think my coming back here has been such a brilliant idea anymore. Too many memories."

"I hear the nightmares have come back…"

"How did you…? Oh! I assume, Professor Snape told you about the Dreamless Sleep Potion?".

"Yes," Dumbledore said; strangely, a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Does it work?"

"Do you want me to be honest?" The headmaster nodded. Sariss exhaled slowly. "Not really. It usually wears off in the early morning hours; if I'm very tired and very lucky, I make it until dawn. If not… Well, anyway, then they come. Actually, it is only one; always the same, every night… It's _the_ nightmare… I remember everything that happened…" The tears came again as the words poured out of her mouth. She recounted the events of seventeen years ago, and it startled Dumbledore how clear her memory of what had happened still was. It was the vision of a ten-year-old girl but he had already listened to it once, and that, Sariss also still remembered very vividly. Dumbledore didn't interrupt her when she began to speak about her memories. She just needed someone who would listen. And now that she didn't write her letters to him anymore, it was understandable that she needed to talk; now that she didn't have her best friends with her any longer it was clear that she needed to confide in someone, someone who knew, someone who simply listened. And as she spoke, Dumbledore too envisioned what she was talking about. It was almost like using a Pensieve, although the images were now only in his mind and not in a shining, silvery bowl filled with swirling liquid thoughts. Sariss had closed her eyes, presumably to keep the tears from flowing, but perhaps she didn't want to see his expression as she spoke of everything as though she were there, as though it happened in those very moments.

Her memories were a terrible thing. Dumbledore was almost glad when she reached the part of the story when he had entered the stage, so to speak…

**~*~**

_Sariss felt woozy, as though she were wrapped with layers of cotton wool, drowsy and very, very tired. The bed she was lying in was so soft and plushy and warm and all…_

_She had had another one of the outbursts that everyone around here so dreaded. A few windows had broken and a large crack had appeared in one wall, while another one of the walls had been blasted away entirely. They had said it was her doing. But Sariss had no idea why it happened. She didn't want it to happen… Just like the many times before… _

_They must have put a spell on her to keep her calm and quiet._

_She was thankful for it._

_Sariss opened her heavy eyelids when she sensed anxiety and heard voices outside. They were muffled, but if that was the case because they were talking very softly or because Sariss was under the spell that felt so nice that she didn't even want to break it, she couldn't tell. What she could tell, however, was that she could have overcome the spell easily if only she'd wanted to. No, better if it stayed the way it was… So comfy…_

_"I cannot express more clearly, headmaster, that if it had been possible I would have informed you immediately that the Dark Lord learnt about the Ravons' whereabouts—"_

A very anxious voice, very worried. Afraid.

_"We've already talked this over, my boy. There's nothing to be gained by your feeling sorry for everything you couldn't prevent from happening."_

Equally worried, I suppose. Strange feelings. Is sad, too. This emotion-sensing thingy is so weird… 

_Her eyes fell shut again. She was too comfortable to keep them open any longer. Too drowsy… However, she listened to the hushed voices; like hoarse whispers they sounded, drowned out and muffled as though she had cotton wool in her ears. If they knew, she could hear them?_

_"Headmaster—"_

_"Right now, our main concern is the girl. We must find out what exactly Voldemort did to her."_

Voldemort. So that had been Voldemort…_ Sariss thought. _Mum was right to tell me that he should be feared…

_"I wish I could tell you this. He informed nobody about what he was up to. Completely secret. As to Gabriel…" he sighed. "Almost all of us had been dismissed the day he broke his memory apart. He wanted to do this alone. Do you think he—?"_

_"We'll know soon enough if he suspects spies amongst his followers… For now, I think it would be best if you returned to him so as not to arouse suspicions. In his opinion, you'll have done what was required for me to keep on trusting you. Tell the Dark Lord about what you saw. I'll take care of the girl." This man, too, sighed now. "Poor little thing…"_

_"Good day, headmaster."_

_The man who had been addressed didn't reply. The other man walked away. Faint footsteps could be heard if Sariss strained her ears._

_The sound of a door opening. Footsteps. The sound of a door falling shut…_

_A hand smoothing her hair back…_

_Sariss blinked wearily and croaked a weak, "Hi."_

_The man smiled. "Hi, little one. You look tired."_

_"'S jus' the spell," she mumbled sleepily._

_"Do you want me to take it off you?"_

_"Nah. Too comfy. Don't want to cause a mess again," she whispered. Apparently, the spell started to wear off when she was straining to stay awake and wanted to talk. She moaned softly. "It's wearing off already… I'll have to have it cast on me again so I don't cause trouble. They get angry when I do that. I don't like them shouting and yelling… Anger hurts. Here." She slowly lifted her hand and placed it onto the man's chest, over his heart. "And it makes me angry, too. And then I cause more of a mess. And then they get even more—."_

_"I see," the man said softly. He was an old man. Long white hair and an equally long white beard hid his face almost entirely. But his eyes were happy eyes, despite how worried he was. They twinkled behind his spectacles, like two small ice-blue stars in the sky…_

_He patted her hand. "Are you cold, little one?"_

_"Sariss."_

_"Excuse me?"_

_"My name is Sariss and yes, I am a bit cold now. The spell made me feel really comfy and all, but now it's a bit cold in here again, but it's okay. I've been cold ever since—."_

_"I see," the man repeated. "By the way, my name is Albus Dumbledore. I am headmaster of Hogwarts School of—."_

_Sariss sat up. "Hogwarts! I was supposed to go there in… My mum said I…" She sniffed. "They killed my mum. He killed my mum. Voldemort."_

_"How do you know it was him?"_

_"I heard you talking with that other man. He's so scared of what's going to happen. He's sorry, just like you are—and you're both worried, too, worried about me… But I don't know why you'd—."_

_"How… You can really sense those things?" he asked curiously. Dumbledore wasn't giving her the feeling of being interrogated like the others had given her from time to time. She could never tell them the whole story because they were so anxious and all, so many people that Sariss started feeling strange and freaked out, causing those 'things'. They must have tried a dozen times to get her to talk it over…_

_No. This man was so calm—worried but calm—that Sariss was calm, too._

_"Uh-huh. It took me a while to figure it out, you know, that those strange emotions weren't mine… And it's so hard to tell them apart. Most of the time it's so confusing."_

_"So you… er… you weren't born with this?" he asked, although he must have known already._

_Sariss shook her head. "No, it started… I have no idea how long ago it was. It was on my birthday when he… when he… when that potion was given to me."_

_"A potion?"_

_Sariss nodded._

_"What kind of potion was it, dearie?" he asked._

_"I don't know. It was some sort of greyish goo. It tasted awful. And it made me feel so cold all of a sudden. And I was so scared. I wanted my mum to help me. That's what mums are there for, isn't it? To take care of their children and protect them…" She sniffed and swallowed. "But… but…" Her eyes flowed over. She couldn't go on._

_"Shh. It's alright," Dumbledore said softly, conjuring a handkerchief out of thin air and wiping away a few tears that slithered down her face. Sariss hadn't even realized that she was crying._

_"Thanks," she croaked and sniffed again. "I'm sorry. I don't cry that easily. At least before all of this happened I didn't…"_

_"It's alright, honey," he said._

_A sob tore from Sariss's throat._

_"What? What's wrong? What did I do?"_

_"Nothing. It's not you. It's just that… my mum always called me that…" she sobbed._

_"You miss your mother, don't you?" Dumbledore asked, although it was not really a question._

_Sariss blew her nose on the handkerchief. "Uh-huh," she nodded, hiccoughing, choking on a sob she had tried to suppress. _

_"It's alright, love, cry. Go on. There's nothing to be ashamed of. It'll make you feel better once it's done." Dumbledore put his arms around her and let her cry until no tears would come. It took a long time. But the man was very patient, rubbing her back firmly and gently at the same time, stroking her hair tenderly. For the first time in, she didn't know how many days, she felt safe. Not because of a spell that built up an illusion of safety around her but in reality._

_After a while she mumbled, "Your beard tickles." She pulled away and scratched her cheek._

_And Dumbledore broke into a grin that was visible despite said beard. He conjured another handkerchief and Banished the drenched one. "There," he whispered and wiped her face. "All of those salty little fellows out or do you intend to keep some for a souvenir?"_

_"All out, I think," she replied, sniffing. "At least for a while, I guess."_

_"So. Is there something you'd like to ask me before you continue to tell me about what happened?"_

_"Could you—would you… Please take me away from here. They're very nice when they're talking to me and all, but they're so distressed all of the time. I don't blame them for it. I am too. But I feel so—."_

_"Does it hurt? Here. Like anger?"_

_"It's a bit different. I can't explain it. It feels a bit different, only a little bit. But it, too, makes me want to throw something. Mr Dumbledore, you see, I know that it's normal to feel like throwing something from time to time, but usually I don't do this. I never destroyed something only because I felt like it. But now it's different. I don't feel like destroying something. It simply happens. I can't do anything about it…" she spoke in a very small voice, struggling to find the right words to describe things that were well beyond the mental capability of a ten-year-old girl. "Please, Mr Dumbledore, please help me. Make me normal again. You must be a powerful wizard if you're headmaster of Hogwarts. You must be able to help me. My mother said you're the one wizard even Voldemort is scared of. If you can't help me—."_

_"I'll do what is in my power, my dear, I promise," the man answered, tears in his eyes, but apparently very glad that she wanted to come with him._

_"Thank you," Sariss choked. A tear slithered down her cheek._

_"Now, now. I thought all of them were out?"_

_"Must have hidden in a corner, the little git," Sariss smiled sheepishly, despite herself, wiping the rebel tear from her cheek, sniffing once more. "There. That's were it gets you."_

_Dumbledore smiled back. "Such a lovely smile. We'll have to work a bit to make it show more often."_

_"What are you going to do with me? Where are you going to take me?"_

_"Hmm. An old friend of mine would be a good option to take care of you until we have sorted this mess-causing thingy out. Arabella would surely be delighted. She's got a lot of cats. Do you like cats?"_

_"I don't know. I never had one."_

_"Well, I hope they like you. Cats are sensitive creatures. They might sense the power that's concealed inside of you. We'll see how it affects them."_

_"What do you mean?"_

_"They'll either like you or run from you."_

_"I don't care as long as they don't scratch or bite me."_

_"Very practical way of thinking, you have there, dearie."_

_She shrugged. "But I'd like them to like me. They're supposed to be so very soft and all. I always wanted to have one myself… A little black one with feet that look as though it were wearing white socks… Do you think that Arabella woman has one like that?"_

_"As she has very many… The chances are there."_

_"So… What's up with those powers, then? Why should a cat be afraid when I don't want to hurt it?"_

_"Animals are very sensitive creatures. They sense those things. In your case, they'll sense very clearly that there's something in you that's not quite what one would expect from a girl—pardon my choice of words—as small and delicate as you are. The powers that are inside of you even scare the Aurors. They're around you like an aura."_

_"Like a what?"_

_"Like an invisible cloud. Like smoke. If it were visible one could almost cut yours with a knife."_

_"But you're not scared. Not scared at all."_

_"I am a highly powerful wizard," he winked. "And I'm old enough to know when to trust my instincts and when to trust my reason. The powers I sense in you do not necessarily mean that you're going to destroy everything. They're just a bit too much for you now."_

_"What can I do about them then? If they're so strong and all?"_

_"You'll have to learn how to control it. I believe it can be done and I'll try and teach you. Once you've managed that, I must bring you to Hogwarts as quickly as possible. Hogwarts is the safest place for you to stay—along with Gringotts bank of course. But you wouldn't like living in an underground vault, would you?"_

_"Not really."_

_"And once we've come that far, it won't take too long a time until the new school year starts. Until then, you'll be safe at Hogwarts. You can make friends if you feel like it or learn a few spells already, fly on a broomstick… Have you ever flown?"_

_He sounded so optimistic despite his worries. But—Sariss assumed—a man as important as the headmaster of a wizarding school had many things to worry about, important ones, and not so important ones…_

_"No," she said. "Mum… mum always said it wasn't safe."_

_"Too true. You'll like it. It's very much fun when you know how to do it properly. Madam Hooch—she teaches flying, a very nice witch, you'll like her, I'm sure—Madam Hooch will be delighted to teach you and help you find a broomstick that suits you—."_

_"Do you… Do you want me to tell you what happened now?" she asked tentatively. The man wanted to come to the point, but he didn't want to pressure her, lest she do some of that magic that no one around here wanted to see…_

_"If you're up to it. Didn't work too well with the Aurors, did it?"_

_"They made me freak out. They—."_

_"I know. So you want to tell me instead?"_

_"I can try. But I don't know if I can describe it in a way so you can understand. They didn't understand when I tried to tell—."_

_"Just tell it like it was. If I don't understand something I'll simply ask you to try and say it differently, alright?"_

_"What if I can't explain it?"_

_"I don't expect an analysis of the events. Not even from a full-grown wizard—or witch—would I demand that. Just speak like the child you are."_

_"Okay," she said slowly and then began to recount the events, pondering her answers when he asked what Voldemort had said exactly, what that potion had been like…_

**_~*~*~_**

_A few months later she found herself at Hogwarts, curiously eyed by the students who seemed not so sure what to make of her. Thus, Sariss spent most of her time in the library. Books didn't flinch when you tentatively touched them, didn't care that your hands were always cold, didn't have feelings that put your defences to the test. But all in all, Sariss was all right. She had Dumbledore, who cared for her as though he were her father, never scolding her when she broke something doing accidental magic, always comforting her when she felt sad. And there was Quidditch. She found she liked watching it very much. She liked bathing in the atmosphere and excitement that the game caused._

_When the new school year was about to start, he took her to Diagon Alley to get a wand for her, although they had discovered that she didn't really need one. But Sariss wanted a wand, just like everybody else. It would look really strange if she were the only one without a wand, wouldn't it?_

_Dumbledore first took her to Gringotts bank and showed her how you got your money from the goblins without too much trouble arguing about taxes and stuff like that. Sariss's eyes went wide when they rushed through the tunnels that harboured the vaults. This was very much like flying… _

_Long tunnels, deep under the surface of the earth. One would get lost in them if the goblins weren't there to guide them… One would never find the vault one was looking for—and if one happened to find it nonetheless, one would never find their way back up into the daylight…_

_After quite some time, the little wagon they'd been sitting in stopped, and the goblin jumped out and prompted Dumbledore and Sariss to follow him down another tunnel. It was only a few yards until they reached vault number 221._

_"This all… Is this… mine?" she asked in awe, her jaw almost hitting the floor when she saw the piles of gold and silver that came into view when the goblin opened the door._

_"All yours. The Ravon legacy. Yours is a very old wizarding family—."_

_"Was."_

_"What?"_

_"_Was_ a very old wizarding family."_

_"I never said you were the last one."_

_"You said it was all mine. So I must be the last one."_

_"That's a very perceptive little head you have there, dearie," he smiled and indicated the money. "Now pop some of it into your purse already."_

_Sariss went and tentatively touched the wealth that was all hers. What a life it would have been if Voldemort had never existed. She and her mother would have been wearing fancy dresses, living in a huge manor, surrounded by servants who fulfilled every single one of their wishes. And perhaps a father for Sariss, too. A nice man. A man like Dumbledore, although a bit younger perhaps…_

_But it would never be that way. Voldemort had sought to that. _

_Sariss mentally shook herself. Thinking about what could have been wouldn't make anything better._

_After chancing another look at Dumbledore who nodded encouragingly, she shoved handfuls of gold and silver into the purse. In Sariss's case, a handful wasn't very much yet. She was a small girl with equally small hands. But that would change. She'd grow up. She'd grow up because at Hogwarts, with Dumbledore, she was safe. Voldemort wouldn't get her. Dumbledore wouldn't let him. He had promised he wouldn't._

_"We're going shopping," Dumbledore said cheerfully. "You'll be needing a lot of things. First, a wand. I'm very curious already what kind of a wand it will be… Then your books and a cauldron and robes and loads of stuff you don't really need but would like to have nonetheless. Your birthday is in a few days, after all, if I recall correctly—."_

_Sariss whirled around. "Don't. Please. I don't want to celebrate. It's nothing to be celebrated," she rushed out._

_"What? Do you intend to mourn it instead?" Dumbledore asked incredulously._

_"I want to ignore it. I just want to forget everything, which I can't with that cursed day recurring every year anyway." She swallowed hard. Now was neither the right time nor the right place to break into tears._

_Dumbledore sighed and sadly shook his head when he indicated for her to leave the vault, which she did._

_"Poor little thing," he muttered and ran his hand over her hair when she walked past him. "You have everything other people would give their wandarm for. You're pretty and rich and very gifted even at your young age. Soon you'll be a beautiful young woman—I'm sure you'll be looking a lot like your mother one day—and you'll be a powerful witch."_

_"I don't care," Sariss whispered._

_"I know. You don't really care about any of this. You only want a family, feel loved and be happy—the only things one can't buy with gold."_

_"Do you think it'll ever get easier?"_

_"I don't know, child, if you're lucky the memories will fade, the nightmares will stop. Other than that…"_

_"I understand. Thanks for being honest. Now let's get this stuff you were talking about. The pretty, useless stuff."_

_"Pretty useless, huh? That's funny," Dumbledore said._

_Sariss shrugged. "I am funny. I just don't laugh at my own jokes—and those of others, for that matter."_

_"The day you laugh your head off will be the happiest in my entire life."_

_"You'll have to get very old then, I think. I don't feel like I'll laugh my head off any time in the near future. And laughter doesn't necessarily mean that someone is happy."_

_"That's a quite philosophic statement for someone so young. Have you been reading a book on that perhaps?"_

_"Yes, but I have also been watching you and others. It is not necessary to laugh when you're happy. People cry when they're happy sometimes. Other people only sit there, a faraway look in their eyes… Happiness is something very complicated and elusive if you ask me. I have forgotten what it felt like before all of this happened. Sometimes I get a very small glimpse of it, but it's like the Golden Snitch. My fingertips already brush it and then it's gone…"_

_"A nice explanation, very expressive. You have been reading very much during the last few months, haven't you?"_

_Sariss nodded. "One question. As soon as I've read every single book in the library, can I go into the Restricted Section and see the books there?"_

_"What might you be looking for in the Restricted Section?"_

_"Er… Perhaps I'll find something that—."_

_"You won't find anything. The whole staff has tried to explain what the potion did to you and found nothing. Not even in the Restricted Section."_

_"Then I'm sure I'll find some books there that deal with the Dark Arts. I want to learn everything about them and as soon as I'm leaving school, I want to go after them. I'll be an Auror or something like that. Are there others who go after Dark wizards?"_

_"Hmm. Going after Dark wizards. Sounds like revenge."_

_"I don't care what it sounds like. I just want…" she trailed off. "You're right, I guess… Yes. It's revenge."_

_"Revenge won't make you happy. It won't make anything undone."_

_"But it'll get him out of my head. The dreams will stop when he's gone. They must."_

_"What if they stop on their own?"_

_"At the moment it doesn't seem as though they were ever going to stop. I think I'm never going to sleep in peace. And I don't think I'll ever be really happy again. Not when I see his face before my eyes every time I close them. You'll have to get extremely old if you want to live the day I'm really happy. Most likely you'd have to live forever."_

_"It's a good reason to grow very old, isn't it? Waiting for someone to be truly happy…" Dumbledore muttered when they were led back up towards daylight…_

**~*~**

It was late afternoon by now. 

Sariss had finally fallen silent. Sometimes it seemed that she ran out of words when she went into her ramblings. Fortunately, she also ran out of tears after a while.

Dumbledore sighed. "After all those years that nightmare still haunts you? Have the memories not faded?"

"The dreams were almost completely gone, you see. And when I dreamt them nonetheless they weren't very distinct, just fragments and feelings—but since I came back here they've become more and more distinct, as though a cloud gradually lifted itself from my memory. And that's why I've been almost _living_ on Dreamless Sleep Potion lately. I know it's not good to take it that often and in such doses. But I'm afraid I'll go mad if I don't… And as for the memories… They'll never fade."

"I see," the old man said, looking at her over the frame of his half-moon spectacles. 

The two of them lapsed into silence.

Sariss fidgeted nervously, her fingers playing with the long sleeves of her robe. She looked as though she wanted to say something else, something that was not easy to say, a question not easy to ask, a statement not easy to make…

"What's on your mind, my dear?" Dumbledore thus prompted her to speak after a while. He felt he could almost sense the words that were left unspoken swirling around in her head. Strange how easily he could read her; she seemed to let down her defences when alone in a room with him.

"There's something else, isn't there? Another dream; another memory?"

"No, not that, although it's almost as much a problem as they are." She looked up at him. "I… I'm not sure how… I don't know how to put it into words, Professor. I've never really spoken about those things, to no one, actually, and since you're the closest thing I have to—forgive me my choice of words—a _father_…" she began hesitantly. Then she took a deep breath and rushed the words out, "What does being in love feel like?"

Dumbledore's smile that had appeared when she had all but called him her father broadened and he laughed softly. "That's quite an unusual question coming from you. You who seem so independent, so self-sufficient most of the time."

"Yes, that's right. I _seem_ so. Now please answer my question before my face turns crimson—a colour that absolutely doesn't suit me—and I have to rush out through the door to drown myself in the lake out of sheer embarrassment."

Dumbledore still smiled. _If you knew, how very well pink cheeks suit you…_

"Now why would you want to know what it feels like?" he asked suspiciously. 

"I'm… just curious, that's all," she faltered. 

_Really convincing that was, my dear child… not._

"Just curious, huh?" he asked mischievously. Then he added, quite serious again, "Do you think you're in love?"

She gave him a slightly annoyed look and seemingly having regained her usual composure, she said, "I fear… Where _you_ ever in love?"

"Yes, of course."

"Well, then you should be able to tell me what it feels like."

"That's something that's not easily explained. Perhaps you should first tell me what _you_ feel and then I'll try and see if your symptoms might just point to the fact that you're in love…"

"How subtle you always manage to draw the information out of me while you volunteer none at all…" she drawled.

"Out with it, come on. I promise not to laugh at you. There once was a time when I, too, tried to describe what I felt and failed miserably—or not."

She chuckled at that. Finally, he had drawn her out of the deep dark ocean that was her memories. Then she tilted her head to the side, a thoughtful expression on her face as she bit her lip in thought for a second. After a few moments she began to speak, "Er… well… this must really sound stupid now… Oh, gods, I can't." She shook her head. "This is too embarrassing. I should never have started a conversation on this topic. It's so… so—."

"I think 'weird' is the expression you're looking for."

"That might just be the exact term to describe my current situation with. Weird. Strange… I mean, really strange. I don't know what's come over me. All the time there was nothing. It was okay; everything was as always. I could handle it, I mean, as I am never really okay for a reason we both know, I could handle it quite well."

Dumbledore nodded. The conversations always returned to that topic. He could wait for her to bring it up as one waited for the sun to set, as one waited for it to rain or for the rain to stop, as one waited for the sound of thunder after a flash of lightning had struck the surface of the earth.

"And then?"

"I don't know when it started, but I've recently started to be aware of… I don't know… strange thoughts, thoughts that came from the back of my mind as though it weren't really me who was thinking them, but it was me, nonetheless. As though something had woken up, turning me upside down and inside out when I look at—when I see… _him_." She sounded annoyed at herself when she said the last few words.

"Hmm. Upside down, huh? Inside out? That might just be terms to describe being in love with. Perhaps you're also confused at _him_? You do not know how to react when you're around _him_?"

"You can say that. But there's also something else that I can't quite fathom—." 

"And what is that? Try to describe it. A certain feeling?"

"Yes," she replied very softly and ran a hand over her face to brush some of the rebellious hairs out of there. "It's a feeling. I just can't give a name to it. It's constant, like stomach-ache, as though something were sitting inside of me, clasping a hand around my intestines and squeezing slightly, but it doesn't really hurt, you see, it's more like pressure, tension, perhaps. Somehow, like the calm before the storm when you're waiting for the first bolt of lightning to zigzag about the sky…" she trailed off. "I feel so incredibly stupid. How could I ever have gotten the idea that I might be in love—with _him_ of all people?!" she exclaimed, but her words were not really directed at Dumbledore. "He so annoys me."

"I am very curious to learn about the man that makes you feel that way, my dear child." Dumbledore smiled benevolently. "I fear I must inform you, that you show all the symptoms of a serious illness," he said. "You are quite indubitably in love with _him_."

"Oh, gods! I really don't know if that's a good or a bad thing. I assume there's nothing to be done about that?"

"Quite right you are about that."

"What am I supposed to do about it? I really tried to ignore all of this, you see, but this stupid little voice is starting to get the upper hand. I don't seem to be able to make it shut up when it's insinuating all this… _stuff_. I even had a dream a few nights ago… He refuses to leave my mind."

Dumbledore laughed quite openly now. "A very serious illness it is. Unfortunately—or fortunately—it cannot be cured that easily. You might just have to see if this being in love thing turns out to be real love."

"But the thing is I don't want to be in love. I don't want to love at all. All the people I've ever felt anything for are dead. All but you, Professor Dumbledore—and now _him_, too. I don't want to lose again. I can hardly manage my own life, twisted and strange as it is. How could I manage to be part of someone else's life, too?" She sighed and shook her head. "I was wrong. It does hurt…" she whispered. "Does it ever stop?"

"I cannot tell you this. I can only advise you to listen to what your heart tells you for a change. This head of yours is much too busy for its own good."

"I refuse to answer to that statement," she said sternly, but a small smile was tugging at the corners of her mouth. She got up to leave. When she had almost reached the door, she turned around once more. "You haven't asked me who I was talking about. Why?"

"Because," the headmaster grinned knowingly.

Sariss rolled her eyes, apparently catching on to what he meant by that. "And I was having such a hard time avoiding saying _his_ name."

"Why don't you say it now?"

"I'd rather not. It's enough for you to know it without my telling you. I'll not let you trick me into confessing that I'm in love with—_him_. This way it's not possible for you to tell _him_ that what I said was about _him_. Not even under the influence of Veritaserum, which he might just slip into your pumpkin juice one day or the other. At least I wouldn't put anything past him," she said with a smirk.

Dumbledore still smiled. It seemed to him that he was doing this quite a lot today despite the initial seriousness of her visit. "You don't trust anybody, do you?"

"I find it safer to not make a habit of it. No. Present company excepted, of course—usually. But when it comes to certain matters I don't even trust you—or myself."

He nodded. "Very well, but if you should decide to let yourself fall into love—"

"Nice way of expressing that I am thinking too much. Again," she threw in.

"—you'll have to trust your… ahem… significant other… to a certain extent."

"I'll think about it when the time comes. If the time comes. It's no use bothering my mind with matters that aren't pressing, yet."

"Has it ever occurred to you that you answer every suggestion that I make with 'I'll think about it' and many of the questions I ask you with 'Not really' instead of with a clear 'Yes' or 'No'?"

"Not really," she grinned at him. 

He grinned back and nodded at her. "Alright then. Is there anything else you wanted to talk to me about?"

"I believe not."

"Then off you go," he ushered her out of his office. And grinning broadly he added, "I'm sure you have very much to think about now, not least this seemingly fiercely desirable—."

She turned around very quickly and interrupted him before he could finish his sentence. "Thank you, Professor," she said sharply, the relief that she had stopped him just in time clearly audible in her voice. Yet, her cheeks reddened quite a bit. It had always been easy to make her blush. She was so very easily to embarrass—and despite what she liked to point out, it didn't _not_ suit her. Remarkable how a face that was so extremely pale under normal circumstances could turn so very rosy within the fragments of a second… 

"Despite your making fun of me, you've been of great help. Very great help. And I'm feeling much better now." She tried quite in vain to pass her embarrassment over. "I'll just have to think what to do now. But one thing is for sure: Whatever I do, I must not lose control anymore. Something like this must not happen again. Next time I might accidentally kill someone who doesn't deserve it…" Sariss squeezed his hands tightly for a few seconds, before leaving. "Thank you, Professor Dumbledore, thank you."

"Any time, dear child, any time," he muttered as he saw her disappear down the spiral staircase. He returned to his desk and sat down, still smiling, when he started going about his business as a headmaster.

**~*~*~**

Quite some time later the door swung open and the Potions master stepped in.

"Don't even bother to knock, Severus," Dumbledore mock-scolded him.

"I fear it has become a habit of mine to enter without asking first, Headmaster. Forgive me my intrusion, but I must speak to you about an important matter—."

"And what might that be?"

"Sariss Ravon."

"It's always about her, isn't it?"

"Headmaster, please. This is a serious situation. I have just been informed that there has been a… er… an accident earlier this afternoon. In Defence Against the Dark Arts."

"Sariss has already spoken to me about it. Who told you?"

"Students," Severus replied curtly.

"And?"

"Malfoy must have crossed a line he'd better not crossed," Severus said. "Other than that… What has she told you?"

"The way I understand it, it started with a lesson about the Unforgivable Curses and went quite well until they started on Avada Kedavra. You know that she was involved in the death of Seth Malfoy several months ago?"

"State it as it is, Headmaster. She…"

"She cast the curse, yes," Dumbledore said. "So Mr Malfoy—senior, that is—has already filled you in about what happened. That it was she who did it."

"Actually, Lucius Malfoy never stated it as plainly as that but he has been showing quite an interest in her and her activities since… _the_ _night_. I merely had to draw my conclusions."

"The night he sought to it that his son entered the Dark Lord's service, Severus? It still pains you to speak about Death Eater initiations, doesn't it?"

"It does, Headmaster. However, this is not the point here. And I don't think Lucius _sought_ to it. Come to think of it, Draco never had a choice. He was born a Death Eater; it's in his blood. The Malfoy blood." Snape sighed and shook his head. Then he continued, "But let's return to our problem. What happened?"

"You said it yourself. Malfoy crossed a line he'd better not crossed. No one told you what exactly he said?"

"No, they said, they couldn't understand what he said. He spoke too softly for them to hear—and he himself refuses to repeat it—even to me."

"Then let me inform you that Mr Malfoy was implying to know _things _about her and she sensed—as I understood it—very disturbing emotions coming from him, as though he knew things about her that even she doesn't know."

"What kind of things? What is it that Malfoy knows, yet she does not?"

"We don't even know that he knows anything at all. There aren't many people who could have told him those _things_ about her… And the ones who, perhaps, could tell him… hmm…"

"Are you speaking of Death Eaters?" Severus asked. "They don't know a thing. I would have learnt it if they knew something, if something special were going on. Although the Dark Lord's interest in her seems to grow—but I already informed you about that."

"Yes, Severus, yes. However, I doubt they—which might just mean solely his father—have done more than implying something to young Mr Malfoy. He most likely doesn't know more than you do. Otherwise, he would have expressed himself more clearly… But what their motives might be… that is your special area of expertise."

"I have no idea why they—_we_, since I am one of them for all they know—might be doing this… Are they trying to get her fired, perhaps? To make it easier for them to obtain hold of her? But then again, how could they ever manage that, powerful that she is?"

"Only by trapping her."

"Let's assume that they do manage to do just that. What then? She would never change sides, would she? She seems not the type of human to do that, join the forces she's fought all her life, join Voldemort… They'd kill her…"

"I believe it is as you say."

"Then we must protect her."

"She is well-protected in Hogwarts, Severus, she always has been."

"And what if she leaves Hogwarts grounds? She's been doing that on a regular basis, if I may remind you."

"The farthest place she'll go is Hogsmeade and they'd be very foolish to try and kidnap her there with all those people around. As to the fact that she visits her late friends on a regular basis… As she thinks herself capable of defending herself—which she is indeed—I don't think anyone could stop her from doing so—not without, among other things, letting her in on your relationship to the Dark Lord."

"That would be just what I'd need. She'd be accusing me of personally killing her friends."

"If she did, you'd tell her the truth. You didn't. Very simple. Besides, all of the Death Eaters involved back then were either caught or killed."

"I could have escaped?" Severus chanced, trying to find all possible trains of thought she could follow and thus find the ultimate reason to despise him.

"I don't think she would think this far. Her mind would be otherwise occupied, I daresay. But anyway, I'll ask her about her little journeys to the cemetery and tell you if there should be a change of schedule. It might even be wise to tell her to change it from time to time. She'd understand without enquiring any further if I asked her to do that, merely as a precaution… You might want to keep an eye on her yourself if I understood that correctly?"

"Yes."

"You'd better cloak your emotions very well then. I take it, you wouldn't want to be caught spying on her, do you?"

"I do not intend to _spy_ on her, headmaster, whatever your implications might be."

"Well then, I'd say it's roundabout impossible for them to obtain her under the current circumstances."

"There's still a chance. Very small, but nonetheless, there is. She's too unpredictable—and on the other hand, she's too predictable. I'm more worried than I can express in words. No matter how precise I might recount the Dark Lord's words, I could never recount his intonation when he speaks of Hogwarts, of you, and of her. I think I fear for her."

"Quite understandable regarding the feelings you harbour for her. But I'm worried, too," the old man admitted, "in more than one respect."

"Headmaster, please. It's merely about her safety. I told you I know when I've lost a game like this."

"A game? If you regard something like love as a game, then let me answer in the correct terms. You don't know that you've lost before you haven't even played. You might just win the game." Then the headmaster applied a mischievous smile onto his face. "Although I'm not sure you really win when you win the game. She's not your ordinary woman, Severus. She'd most certainly prove quite a challenge—emotionally, I mean. Remember that she senses your emotional state, if you do not guard it very well—which you, thankfully, do most of the time—and her own isn't as stable as she'd like it to be, either. It never was. She's just good at controlling herself, that's all. I am fairly sure that you'd be in for quite some surprises if you played and won _the game_. You'd get more than you bargained for."

"Stop making a fool out of me," the Potions master all but snarled. "And I never said that I was in love."

"I'm not making a fool out of you. And you needn't say it. I'm just telling you what I see," Dumbledore replied lightly.

"And what is it that you see?"

"I see a man who is afraid to be rejected, to be turned down. Say, what was it like at the Christmas Feast?"

"I refuse to answer that question."

"How come everyone always refuses to answer me?" Dumbledore asked himself softly, yet loud enough for Severus to hear.

"Perhaps it is because you ask the most indiscreet questions imaginable?" Severus stated dryly.

"Then you think that, perhaps, I should let _you_ ask the questions?"

Severus was surprised, but recovered quickly. Yes, indeed, for once Severus wanted to be the one to receive some answers. As to the questions… One sprung to mind. Or perhaps two.

"Why does he want her? Who is she really, Headmaster? I'm asking you again, knowing that you must know it. That girl is a riddle to me, a complete mystery; she's _still_ a mystery. Who. Is. She?" ****

"She's the daughter of Electra Ravon, Severus, whom you, unfortunately, never had the pleasure to meet—Voldemort saw to that… A very intelligent and brave witch she was, very pretty and highly powerful—quite logical, considering the fact that the blood of Ravenclaw ran in her veins—and thus in danger as soon as our dear friend Tom Riddle laid eyes on her… But Sariss is an entirely different matter…" Dumbledore trailed off.

"I already knew what you just told me. Voldemort tends to go after the descendants of the Founders," he said impatiently. "But there must be more. You haven't answered my question. Who is this girl?"

"Now, Severus, the last thing she is, is a little girl; she'd be quite… well, ahem… not pleased if she heard you say that—but I won't deny she's _definitely_ a riddle—to me as much as to herself, you and everybody else."

Severus must have realized that Dumbledore wouldn't—could not—answer to his questions, since he excused himself, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like, "This is useless," and left, slamming the door shut a bit louder than strictly necessary as he did so. 

**~*~*~**

Dumbledore shook his head when the Potions master had left. He couldn't answer his questions when he couldn't even tell Sariss—yet.

The information that the headmaster had kept secret all those years must not be known until the right moment came. In his opinion, he had already said too much. If he had said those things to Sariss, if she had listened to this conversation, she might have figured them out on her own, reading his emotions and all as he spoke. If she had no other talents at all, she'd still be able to put one and one together and get two. Clearly, that was something she had inherited from her mother, who had realized when it was necessary—crucial—to do certain things, to go into hiding—and her father… He was also an entirely different matter.

Thus, he'd never even implied anything to her. It would have been painful for her—maybe too painful—if he had and if she were to learn about it before she was ready for something as big as that. She might not be able to cope with it—yet, again…

**Next chapter:**

The terrible trio get suspicious, _enjoy_ a Divination lesson and try to get a few answers out of Hagrid. Severus gets to be confused. A tiny little bit of Quidditch. And Severus makes a pass at Sariss—sort of.


	13. The Master Prophecy

**Author's note:** This time I must thank **Blaise A. Snape** (author of 'Princess of the Darkness' GO READ IT!) for more than 'just' a review. She's built a homepage with a link to a page she's dedicated to yours truly. Me… And I'm feeling so special. My little soul-sister has built me a shrine—and also one dedicated to the absolutely adorable Mr Alan Sidney Patrick Rickman. *swoons* She also allows me to state her homepage as mine. Isn't she just the best? Here's the link: h** (let's see if ff.net removes the address if I put in these **…) Or visit my profile where I state it also. Now that the technical stuff has been dealt with… On to…

**Butterfly**! You're so not obsessed with AR, are you? Of course you aren't. No idea what could have given anybody the impression. Your love for his hands? Or his gorgeous 'baritone voice'? Your constant quoting of his lines? *grins* Okay, I admit I'm not a bit better. But it's not our fault that the man is so perfect and always gets the best lines, is it? There's loads of them in this story. Some of them are rather hard to find. Others are merely from one of his movies but aren't spoken by him. I challenge you to find them ALL. Good luck. And since you like long chapters… Here's one of the longest. Only chapter 18 and 22 will be longer. Loads of stuff to look forward to, eh?

One more thing: I've started posting another story. It's a work in progress, so it's likely to be rewritten once it's finished. I can already tell that I'll be changing loads of things… Because that's what happened to the story you're currently reading… 

And now—after an author's note the size of some people's chapters—on to Chapter 12. Twelve, the magical number in all things HP.

Chapter 12: The Master Prophecy

**_Oracle of the Delphian Domine  
Witness of Adam's frailty_****  
_Seer of the master prophecy  
The stellar world her betrothed_**

_—Nightwish: Stargazers_

"What was Malfoy talking about and why is he acting so different now?" Hermione asked as she poured herself another gobletful of pumpkin juice at breakfast on Friday.

"He's a Death Eater," Harry said dryly.

"I know that. But why is he suddenly being so horrible to Professor Ravon?—Granted, not openly enough to give him detention, which isn't like her, anyway. After all, she's a Slytherin as well as he himself…" 

"Perhaps she's not evil enough for him?" Ginny asked through a mouth full of toast.

"That can't be it. She wasn't evil before Christmas either," Ron said.

"Look who's talking now!" Ginny exclaimed—thankfully having swallowed the bite. "I remember quite well that you said something along the lines of 'creepy' and 'strange' one day or the other." 

"But I never said she was 'Evil Incarnate', did I?" Ron countered.

"Well, then let's try and find out what's going on here."

"Sure, if Malfoy knew something we didn't…" Ron began.

"That would ruin our reputation!" Harry finished, mock-scandalised.

"I'll check the library…" Hermione volunteered. "There must be a book somewhere around there that she's mentioned in. After all, she was working for the Ministry. There should at least be a _Daily Prophet_ snippet or something." She paused thoughtfully. "Actually, her name seems familiar…"

"Sure, we've only had her teaching us for the last couple of months…" Ron helpfully pointed out.

"Shut up. You know what I mean. I meant to say that I thought her name sounded familiar the very moment Dumbledore introduced her." 

"Not so many people around with such a name, are there?" 

"Exactly. I must have come across it one day or the other. It rang a bell almost instantly, but I had no reason to ponder it further. After all, she was just a new teacher," said Hermione. "I'll go and see what I can find in the library as soon as I find the time to do so."

"Then it can't be in _Hogwarts, A History_. You know _that_ book by heart," Harry said.

Glancing at Hermione out of the corner of his eyes Ron leant over the table towards Harry, whispering loud enough for her to hear: "She keeps repeating parts of it over and over again and whispers the paragraphs to herself when she's nervous or something." 

"Kind of like a Mantra, you mean?" Harry asked.

Ron now grinned evilly at Hermione who was blushing furiously at his statement.

"I love it when she does that…" he muttered. Hermione changed from looking rather flustered to shooting Ron a death glare that would have made Snape proud. Then she composed herself enough to force out a stuttering reply: "I'm not! How would you know anyway? Since when can you read lips?"

Harry was trying hard not to burst out laughing at the fact that she had confessed that she did exactly as Ron had said. He would have loved to point out that he knew she also quoted the book in her sleep (Ron had told him so after Hermione had fallen asleep in front of the fireplace in the common room. What Ron hadn't told Harry was that Hermione had fallen asleep with her head on his shoulder, but Harry had suspected something like that a long time ago). If Harry mentioned that now it would most certainly result in a couple of nasty hexes with his name on them hurtling his (_and_ Ron's) way. And if there was one thing that Hermione was good at, it was her wandwork. 

Talking was out of the question now anyway since this particular action would have involved a certain amount of controlled breathing, something he couldn't even think about trying to do at the moment for he was too busy avoiding howling with laughter at Hermione's crimson-coloured face for fear she'd lose her temper at the fact that she was unintentionally providing the entertainment. He knew exactly where this conversation was heading but couldn't wipe the grin off his face. And Ginny wasn't helping either. If possible at all, she was in a state even worse than Harry and forced out a strained, "See you later, Harry. Don't want to be late for Potions…" Harry only nodded; if he opened his mouth now the last thing that would come out were words… Ginny grinned. Then she gave him a peck on the cheek, grabbed her bag and off she went…

"Oh yes, you do. All the time. Even when you're asleep." At the moment the words had slipped over Ron's lips, Harry knew he'd really hit a nerve now and thus was very impressed at Ron's ability to keep a straight face by way of comparison when the two of them had one of their 'bickering contests', as Harry had so eloquently dubbed them. _Years of practice with Fred and George_, he mused.

Hermione took a sip of her pumpkin juice to get some time to recover and after a deep breath, the colour of her face returning to normal, she added, "Well, even if I did, that would be none of your business anyway! You of all people could do with a closer look at some of the—."

Harry, fearing that he'd provided a good starting line for something that would turn out as another one of Ron and Hermione's Much-Ado-About-Nothing rows that usually ended with the two of them not speaking to each other for at least the whole remaining day, quickly decided to switch to distraction tactics before Ron could come up with one of those quick-witted remarks—involving words that basically came down to "bossy know-it-all"—that made Hermione _really_ angry. Nonetheless he had to confess that there was a grain of truth in that statement; of course he'd never admit that with Hermione in overhearing range which brought to mind the troll incident in their very first year that had kind of formed a base for their friendship. But that had been a long time ago and now the last thing he needed was a replay of what had happened in their third year when Ron had accused Crookshanks of having turned Scabbers into some sort of a midnight snack. 

"Er…" He racked his brain for something to say. "We're… going to be late for classes…?" he chanced finally, applying an innocent impression to his face.

Hermione immediately dropped the subject, realizing they'd been on the verge on a major row again, inwardly cursing her temper. Ron breathed a sigh of relief. The two of them looked at Harry. Hermione with a look of pure joy on her face at the prospect of another Arithmancy lesson, Ron—facing Divination lessons with Professor Sybill Trelawney—with a look that ranged somewhere between disgust, desperation and pure unabashed horror, that made a smile creep across Hermione's face as she chanced a glance at him. Despite the fact that she took her studies very seriously, she had never developed great ambitions concerning the subtle—but very unreliable—art of Divination. 

Then she got up and leaning down to Ron and giving him a peck on the cheek she said, "See you later in Care of Magical Creatures—and don't make up too horrible death scenarios…" Hermione swished out of the Great Hall like a black-robed whirlwind. 

Ron turned to Harry a mock-thoughtful look on his face: "I wonder what she meant by that…" 

Harry groaned as he grabbed his book bag. "And I wonder what Trelawney has in store for me today. Do you have any idea if there's a single horrible event that leads to my untimely death left that she hasn't covered twice and thrice yet?" 

"Maybe she really should find herself a hobby or something…"

"She doesn't need another one, she already has one. Predicting tragedies with _famous_ Harry Potter in a leading role," he muttered sarcastically in a way that rivalled Draco Malfoy's infamous drawl.

"Look at it that way. You're one of the few people who might be able to use my favourite quote one day," Ron said brightly.

"What's that?"

"_Rumours of my death have been greatly exaggerated_."

Harry chuckled. "I should have thought of that when I fell off the broomstick—Damn it, we're going to be late if we don't hurry. And I mean hurry."

They got up and headed in direction of North Tower. At fast pace as it was quite a distance away from the Great Hall.

Ron suddenly spoke up, slightly gasping since they were running now, "Er, Harry?" 

"Hmm?" 

"What's a Mantra?" 

Harry rolled his eyes making a mental note as to buy Ron a dictionary for his birthday present—but then again, he already had Hermione… "Not important. Speed up a bit, will you?"

**~*~*~**

They clambered up the ladder to the stifling hot and heavy-perfumed classroom where the other students were already assembled. Since Harry and Ron had run all the way towards North Tower they were now slightly out of breath—but right on time. "That—was—close—," Harry gasped. Ron only nodded his agreement, and they slumped down into their seats, already starting to feel drowsy even though they hadn't been in the room for two minutes.

Harry opened his book bag and set _Forewarned is Forearmed: How to Prepare Yourself for the Unexpectable_ onto the table along with a sheet of parchment and a well-used Quick-Quotes-Quill that hovered on its tip, apparently eager to write down everything that would be said.

Ever since the beginning of his fifth year Harry had taken to bringing a Quick-Quotes-Quill to his Divination lessons—just in case Professor Trelawney had another one of her 'fits', as Ron had dubbed the incident that had happened at Harry's Divination exam in their third year—to make sure to catch every word of a possible prophecy. Actually, it had been Rita Skeeter who had inspired him to do so—but Harry had been careful to choose a Quill that only wrote down what was _really_ said and didn't have a mind of its own. One thing Dumbledore had taught him and which Harry had learnt through Voldemort's more or less stalking him was that you needed to be prepared. Always. Who could tell _when_ and _if_ that old fraud would state something important again? Unlike last time, Harry would have something tangible; proof; evidence; something that one could examine more closely and perhaps even interpret so that it made some sense.

Ron had called him paranoid when he'd started doing so and—by the end of their sixth year—had modified his previous statement to 'obsessive-compulsive.' Harry was fairly sure that Ron hadn't actually grasped the meaning of that expression—Hell, Harry had had to look up a definition himself to understand what Ron had said and if it was as insulting as it sounded. Harry had then decided he'd been called worse before and added it to a mental list he had dubbed 'Document of Defamation' where it ranked somewhere between 'thick-headed' and 'so full of yourself that [insert something creative here]'—which left only two sources for research of that kind: Hermione or the Library. In that case, Harry mused, there wasn't really a difference; 'Hermione' and 'Library' were two words so often used in the same sentence that there wasn't much of a difference between 'asking Hermione' and 'looking it up in the Library' anymore.

Professor Trelawney stepped out of the shadows, her many rings and other jewellery glittering in the flickering light of the fire.

"Now that we have finished Scrying, the fates have informed me that today will be a special lesson. Today," she began the lesson in her mistiest of voices, "today we will try to pass into a trance, that is a state of high receptiveness for the supernatural forces, and make use of the Quija board to communicate with the other side. It is, of course, highly unlikely for you to make any contact with those forces, as that requires a highly trained and open mind…"

She handed out the boards and a glass to put on it upside down, while she kept droning on and on about how the incense she was burning today would help them pass into the required trance.

Harry only got tired.

"I don't think I'll ever make it into this trance thingy," Ron whispered. "It's much more likely for me to fall directly into a deep, deep sleep."

"You tell me," Harry yawned. "Let's try anyway. I've seen something on TV that explained how those things work."

He set the glass into the middle of the Quija board and put his forefinger on it, gesturing for Ron to do the same.

Professor Trelawney meanwhile explained what they were supposed to do, seemingly not even noticing that Harry and Ron were already having a go at the board.

"And now?" Ron asked.

"Ask a question and the other side will answer," Harry said. "Actually, on Muggle TV they say it's your subconscious that moves the glass, but… I wouldn't know, would I?"

"Okay… Will I pass the exams?"

The glass didn't so much as tremble. Nothing.

They waited. Not even a twitch. Completely unmoving. Nothing. Zero. Nada.

"Doesn't work. I knew it was stupid," Ron said.

"Hmm…" 

"Once your mind has reached a state of perceptiveness, you may ask the other side if it hears you…"

"Let's try it again," said Harry. "Maybe we can talk to Elvis."

"I don't think so," said Ron.

"Why not?"

"He's not dead. He only went home into the wizarding world. Didn't you know?"

"I thought that was only a joke."

"It isn't."

"How about… Janis Joplin?"

"Same there."

"Oh."

"Sometimes you really show that you've been raised by Muggles, you know?"

Harry shrugged. "Any other suggestions?" he asked.

"Well… not really. We could take whoever decides to answer."

"Okay, let's try again."

They concentrated hard—which was difficult since from everywhere in the room came 'Oooh's and 'Aaah's at what the boards seemed to reveal.

"Is someone there?" Harry asked, exchanging a glance with Ron. The glass didn't so much as twitch.

"This is usele—."

Ron let go of the glass and Harry followed suit. Just then it slithered over the inscription that said 'YES'.

Both students stared open-mouthed at the glass that was completely still once more.

Harry nervously licked over his suddenly parchment-dry lips. "Who… Who are you?" he whispered.

'A-F-R-I-E-N-D' it answered.

"And what's your name, friend?" asked Ron.

'F-O-R-G-O-T'

"You forgot your name? Why?"

'T-O-O-L-O-N-G-D-E-A-D-P-E-R-H-A-P-S'

"How long've you been dead?"

'D-O-N-T-K-N-O-W'

"The dead seem to have a very bad memory," Harry said.

"Did you have a family?" Ron asked.

'Y-E-S-L-O-V-E-D-M-Y-C-H-I-L-D'

"What happened to them?"

'C-A-N-T-T-E-L-L-S-T-I-L-L-A-L-I-V-E'

"How do you know?"

'N-O-T-D-E-A-D-W-O-U-L-D-V-E-S-E-E-N'

"What's their name?"

The glass was inching from left to right for a few moments as though the one guiding it were indecisive. Then it rushed to the other side of the board to come to rest on—

"Professor Trelawney?" Parvati said, her voice filled with a slight panic that made Ron and Harry completely forget about what they were supposed to be doing. "I think I…"

Harry saw her tense. (His and Ron's glass still scraped over the Quija board, albeit they paid no attention to it). Parvati gasped for breath as if she were drowning. And then she started to speak in a voice that couldn't have been more different from her normal voice—and the Quick-Quotes-Quill literally flew over the parchment, scribbling away furiously as the words poured out of her mouth:

_"Only together will they be victorious—   
Different, yet so much in common—  
Joining forces to vanquish a greater evil.  
My enemy's enemy is my friend._

_An outstretched hand, a deadly embrace   
To bring together what once was divided.  
The Dark Lord shall fall; death shan't be conquered.  
Past Evil shall be made undone."****_

She exhaled slowly, then slumped and fainted. Neville and Seamus who had been sitting close to the girls' table jumped and caught her before she could slip off the pouf she had been sitting on and gently guided her to an armchair.

She slowly opened her eyes, gradually regaining consciousness.

"What's wrong?" she asked, scanning their worried faces. "Why are you all staring at me?" She was deathly pale, her lips very white, and she shook violently. "Lavender? Seamus? Neville?"

"My dear, you must have dozed off," Professor Trelawney said. "Too deep a trance is not too good for the health of one as untrained as you are."

"Wh-what?" Parvati stuttered, helplessly looking from one anxious face to the other.

"Parvati, you just had a vision or something," Neville said gently and hesitantly took her still shaking hand. He blushed a deep crimson that was not that perceptible in the semi-darkness that was usual for Trelawney's lair.

"I would not go that far," said Professor Trelawney. "Miss Patil might just need a bit of fresh air to compose herself. The forces of the other side are considerable and are not easy on an untrained mind. You might have gotten one of the more powerful ones—considering the large amount of information you received via the board, it's quite likely for your mind to overload, especially for one so sensitive to the supernatural as you are."

The bell rang.

"Oh dear! Time is fleeting!" the Professor exclaimed. "You should perhaps see Madam Pomfrey, Miss Patil. She'll give you something to calm down a bit." She turned towards the class. "If you'd put away the boards and glasses now?"

The students hurried to do just that. Harry and Ron returned to their table and board. The glass was resting on the letter 'S'.

"Wonder what it would have told us if we hadn't been distracted," muttered Harry.

"Probably just a ghost with an immense need for some live communication—Whoa, look!"

The glass was moving again.

'N-E-E-D-S-F-R-I-E-N-D-S-A-L-L-I-E-S'

"This is _weird_," said Ron. He sounded fascinated that something they did in Divination actually seemed to work for a change.

'B-A-D-T-I-M-E-S-A-H-E-A-D-B-E-T-T-E-R-T-I-M-E-S-Y-E-T-T-O-C-O-M-E'

"What do you mean?" Harry whispered as hypnotized by the slowly moving glass as Ron was.

'Y-O-U-K-N-O-W-W-H—'

"Mr Potter, Mr Weasley, the lesson is ended," Professor Trelawney's not-remotely-as-misty-as-usual voice interrupted them. Ron jumped and accidentally knocked the glass over. "You may tell your ghostly friend good-bye and then clear the table."

"Yes, Professor," they murmured and obeyed. Then, after Harry had grabbed the parchment the Quick-Quotes-Quill had scribbled on, they climbed down the ladder and left North Tower.

"Damn. I would have liked to learn a bit more," Ron muttered. "Harry?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you think it wanted to say 'You Know Who'?" he said hesitantly.

"I don't know. Actually, I'm more interested in what this is all about," Harry waved the parchment in front of Ron.

"Maybe you'd better show it to Dumbledore," Ron suggested.

"Yeah, I think I'll do that. Later. Let's hurry. I want to ask Hagrid some things about Professor Ravon before lessons start."

"That exploding inkbottle thingy?"

"Yes. I want to know if she knew it would happen. She tried to warn Malfoy before it happened, remember?"

"Yeah. She's strange. I wouldn't have warned Malfoy if it was me."

**~*~*~**

Hermione was waiting for them at the front steps. "What took you so long?"

"Oh, well, you know, there was something really weird happening in Divination…" Ron began, and on their way down towards Hagrid's hut, he and Harry filled Hermione in on the vision Parvati had and the strange occurrence with the Quija board.

"You know, you should perhaps let Dumbledore in. I doubt Professor Trelawney will take Parvati's vision or whatever it was serious enough."

"Yeah, I'll give him a copy of the parchment as soon as possible. But now I've got a question or two about that inkbottle thingy… Hullo, Hagrid!"

"Hullo, yeh three," Hagrid shouted over the distance. "I'll be with yeh in a minute. Jus' got ter take the unicorns back into their enclosure… There, that's it." He locked the gate and then went into the other enclosure where he disappeared into the shadows for a minute or so before he came back out—with a giant creature on a leash.

"I've got a surprise fer yeh today. Jus' look at that! Lovely creature, ain't he?"

The 'lovely creature' looked a bit like an ox, although a rather big one. And it was golden all over. Despite its dangerous and sharp looking horns it looked quite friendly as Hagrid stroked its huge head.

"That's a Re'em, Hagrid," Hermione said, awestruck. "They're very rare. How on Earth—?"

"Listen, Hagrid. One thing," Harry interrupted. "I wanted to ask you something…"

"What yer wanna know?"

"It's about something that happened in Professor Ravon's class…" Harry began.

"Why? What happened?"

"We, that is, I think that she made—accidentally—the ink in Malfoy's bottle boil," Harry said hesitantly, "and it exploded. And I think that she knew it would happen."

"Why should she've known?" Hagrid asked suspiciously.

"Because she tried to warn him shortly before, well… What do you think?"

"Well, those things tend ter happen sometimes, don' they?" Hagrid had never sounded more deliberately evasive.

"Yes, but we never feel them coming," said Ron. "She _did_—at least Harry thinks so."

"Well, yeh might've noticed that she's not yer ordinary witch. Has some unusual powers. That's all I'm sayin'. Don' know no details anyway."

"But, Hagrid, what's—?"

"The poor lass has had enough ter deal with. It's none o' yer business," Hagrid said. "So… everybody here? Good. This is what I've got fer yeh today. This friendly beast here's a Re'em. Very dangerous if yeh don' treat 'em right, yeh hear me, Malfoy? Don' yeh come no closer. Its blood's used fer some Strength Potions as Professor Snape told me. But it's very hard ter get. They don' like bein' pricked or cut…"

**~*~*~**

Sariss made her way to her seat at the High Table. It was dinnertime. Yet, not all of the teachers were there. Professor Trelawney wouldn't attend—as usual, her chair was empty. Sariss wondered for a second why they always set up a chair for her at all. But it was obvious: just in case she came down surprisingly. _Always be prepared. _That had always been Sariss's motto and she had lived true to it, mentioning it more than once when being asked why she did this or that…

Hagrid wasn't there either—yet. He might be taking care of the Re'em first, feeding it, even grooming it perhaps? Sariss had to admit that Hagrid did well with any kind of animals even though he hadn't very much experience with them. He liked dangerous creatures. He had always liked them—and they liked him, too—and now that he was a teacher, he could procure and take care of them officially. And to get his hands on a Re'em! Sariss made a mental note to one day ask him how he had managed that…

Quickly scanning the rest of the table, she noticed that Snape was also missing. An accident with one of the potions perhaps? Half of the dungeons blown up once again? She smirked. 

"Good evening, Professors. Professor Dumbledore," Sariss said as she walked past him.

"Sariss! I've been waiting for you already. There's something that I'd like you to see also. Minerva, if you'd be so kind…"

"Naturally, Albus," she replied and handed him a piece of parchment.

Dumbledore accepted it with a nod. "There has been an incident during the seventh-years' Divination lesson."

"What kind of incident?" Sariss asked, sitting down next to Dumbledore.

"Miss Patil fell into a trance and had a vision. Written on this parchment is what she said. I thought every staff member should know about this. It's quite unclear and mysterious. A _typical_ prediction." He rolled his eyes slightly. "Sybill herself couldn't have stated it more vaguely. Actually, dear Professor Trelawney doesn't take it serious at all. She insists that Miss Patil had been lacking fresh air when her brain provided her with the words she spoke. I, however, am of a different opinion."

"Well, then let me see it and judge for myself."

Dumbledore handed Sariss the parchment. She quickly read it, furrowing her brows in concentration and puzzlement.

"Are those the exact words?" she asked. "I mean—." 

"Yes, they are. They have originally been taken by a Quick-Quotes-Quill. Mr Potter was kind enough to have it written down and copy it for me." 

"Quick-Quotes-Quill? During my time here they weren't allowed…" 

"They still aren't. Mr Potter swore he only used it in Divination in case exactly this should happen. A very wise thing to do. You see, it has happened before."

"You mean, Trelawney's actually capable of predicting the future?"

"A very subtle art Divination is… But yes. Twice her predictions came true. And now there's Miss Patil's prediction. Quite a prediction it is. I'm tempted to call it a prophecy."

"What does all of this mean?" she finally said after reading it for a second time.

"Working together despite some differences, I wager," Dumbledore replied.

"Differences between whom? And how many people does it refer to?" Sariss's mind began to work on the riddle immediately.

"I have no idea," the headmaster sighed.

"Well, it's obvious that the Dark Lord is going to be defeated in the near future—that's good news—but how?" She sighed, exasperated. "Why do those prophecies always have to be so complicated and misleading? Couldn't it say, 'Go there, do this, do that'?"

"Bring together what once was divided…" Dumbledore muttered thoughtfully. "A deadly embrace… Past Evil undone… Hmm…"

**~*~*~**

It was late in the night, and Severus Snape was in the dungeons, taking stock of the Potions ingredients in the students' cupboard.

_Hmm. We're running out of fluxweed… More wolfsbane…_

His quill scratched over the parchment, taking notes. _Some more nightshade… Rat spleens…_

The door creaked open. It was the only sound save Severus's own breathing and the light scratching of his quill. It sounded very loud in his ears all of a sudden.

Familiar steps approached him and stopped right behind him.

Questioningly, Severus turned around. "Can I help you, Miss Ravon? Have you come to brew some Dreamless Sleep Potion?" he asked the first thing that he could think of—or rather, the first thing he could think of that wouldn't sound insinuating.

She was wearing her dressing gown and had a shawl wrapped around her shoulders, as it was very cold in the dungeons. Her hair was down; it moved in a gentle breeze. The dungeons had always been a bit draughty, especially during the winter. It was useful for the small fires that burnt beneath the cauldrons. But now it seemed to exist only to enhance the dreamlike character of the situation.

Severus realized that he was all but staring at her, eyeing her up and down. How could he not? She looked incredible like that. He needed to force himself to not think about what lay hidden underneath that flowing dark hair and dressing gown that was fastened tightly around her waist. 

Wordlessly, she took the parchment and quill from him and put them aside, only to slide her hands into their former places. Severus hardly dared to breathe when she did that. Her hands were cold as ice, but their feel sent not shivers of cold through him but some of an entirely different nature. "Say Sariss, will you?" she said then, glancing up at him for a short moment before she let her hands run up to his elbows and then moved them to his chest, letting them slowly travel upwards. Very slowly.

"Miss—Sariss…" he began. "Sariss…" _What's going on here?_ "Sariss…"

"I'll have to buy myself another name if you keep wearing out this one."

"Sariss, what do you want to accomplish by doing… _that_?" Severus said, catching her by the wrists, thus preventing their further ascent. He shouldn't have done that. One word: Contact. Again.

"It's what you want, isn't it?" she said, a bit of confusion in her gaze. "I thought you wanted—" 

"What do I want?" he asked hoarsely. He could see his reflection in her irises. Her eyes were wide open; it seemed that they penetrated him all too completely. And they did.

And she knew it, just as well as he did. After a few moments of merely looking at him—he fought the urge to squirm under her scrutinizing but nevertheless thoughtful gaze—she smiled somewhat suggestively. "Don't deny it," she said. "I know it. You yearn."

She was so close that he could hardly breathe. "What do I yearn?" he asked, struggling for words and for composure. She smelt intoxicating. And she was right. 

What the hell had come over her? Why was she here at all when she wasn't in need of Dreamless Sleep Potion? Why was she behaving so… strange? It wasn't that he hadn't been imagining something like that—although he'd never believed that it would ever come true. Not at all. It was highly pleasing in a way. More than that. But she shouldn't be _that_ straightforward. It was frightening. This wasn't the Sariss Ravon he had grown accustomed to. A part of him wanted to tell her to come to her senses. Another part wanted to shove her away and shout at her to stop playing with him in such a vindictive manner when she must have noticed how she affected him. It seemed that he couldn't bring up his defences. He felt like an open book and dreaded to be read. A small part of him hated her for that.

"What do you think that I yearn?"

"This," she breathed and moved even closer. Severus was suddenly aware that he was still clutching her wrists. She didn't grace that fact with a comment, as she pressed her body against his. Her breasts against his chest, her hips against his hips, her legs against his legs—and her lips not an inch from his.

"Don't do that," he said and took a hasty step back.

"Don't do what?" she breathed and closed the distance between them. 

"Do not mock me, woman," he said harshly. Somehow her presence was getting more and more frightening by the minute. He felt he had no control over the situation. If she knew that he longed for her, why did she have to behave like that? It was highly disturbing. If she wanted to seduce him—which he could hardly believe possible although everything pointed to it—why was she playing with him like a cat would play with a mouse? "What are you playing at? Is that some sort of comeuppance? If so, it's not funny at all."

"I do not intend to punish you for anything if that's what you mean."

"Then stop whatever it is that you think you're doing."

"What am I doing?" Her lips grazed his chin as she spoke.

"Stop this madness. This is not you. You're not like this."

"What am I not like?" Her breath lingered on his chin for a moment before she brought some distance between their faces again. "Or even better: What do you think I _should_ be like?"

"You're… not like this. You're many things. You're…" he had no words for her. He couldn't think. "But you're not this. You wouldn't come to me like this and do any of this. Not me. Not like this. Not ever."

"What makes you think that?" she looked up at him, now curious.

"It's not in your nature."

"You know nothing about my nature."

"I know that this is not it. You're not one of those women who approach a man like this, or so I always thought."

"Why would I not do that?"

"Because it means giving up a part of the control you exert over yourself. You wouldn't sacrifice it willingly. Not like this. Not unless you've determined whether you'd get it back."

"And what led you to that conclusion?"

"You're an Auror, even though you left the Ministry. It's been only a few months. You're still thinking like one."

"How presumptuous of you." She sounded amused and looked it too.

"Am I right?"

"You're talking too much." She stood on tiptoes and leant in.

"I won't have you seduce me," he forced out. "Why are you doing this?"

"Fine. If that's what you want. I'm not going to do anything. Let the question rather be 'what are you going to do about me?' Tell me to leave and I might just do that. I mean it. Be careful what you wish for. Or are you willing to take the next step or not? It's entirely in your hands."

She slowly closed her eyes, waiting for him to give her an answer not in words but rather in deeds, he realized.

She was very pale tonight, as she was wearing not a tinge of make-up, he noted as he looked at her face, which was so close to him that he would have seen if anything had covered up a blemish or mark. There was none that needed to be covered. She had a few freckles scattered over her cheeks. Fair skin like hers tended to be freckly. But there weren't many. He might not even have noticed them if she hadn't been so close. If he wanted to he could have counted them within a matter of moments.

He hardly noticed that her wrists slipped out of his hands. But when her face turned away, he awoke from his trance. She was actually leaving.

Severus caught her by the arm, thus holding her back. She opened her mouth to say something but her breath seemed to catch in her throat as he took her face in his hands.

"Yes," he whispered, capturing her mouth in his. 

She slid her arms around his shoulders and ran her cold fingertips over the nape of his neck and then up into his hair.

That certain spark was there again. The same that had been there at Christmas. His skin prickled where she touched it, his lips—now moist—felt as if effervescent powder had been applied to them; the sensation was tickling, like myriads of tiny explosions, and incredibly arousing.

Severus completely forgot that everything seemed so weird and illogical. His instincts took over instead, as he ran his hands down her body. The feel of her extraordinarily soft and heavy hair against the backs of his hands was exquisite. So was the feel of her mouth. Now it was he who pressed her against him. And moving one of his hands up her spine, he entwined his fingers in her hair and rested his hand against the nape of her neck. He'd never let her move away again. Witchcraft. That was exactly what it was. It was not an ordinary kiss that she gave him there. It was not an ordinary kiss that he gave her either. It was a kiss that demanded more and more and even more with every second that it lasted. He sucked in her taste, drowning in her. She did the same.

The part of his mind that was not completely dazed tried to tell him that this was not what a first kiss with her could ever be like. It shouldn't be like that. There must be a law to forbid it.

He idly wondered who had taught her to kiss like that. Surely not the boy she'd gone to her graduation ball with? Strange that Severus actually remembered that little fact now. His mind must be so jumbled that it provided him with long forgotten details from years ago.

After a very long time he tore his mouth away from hers, only to let it wander to her throat, teasing and sucking at her skin. It was very hot now. Amazing.

Her shawl fell to the floor, slipping through Severus's fingers—or rather _under_ Severus's fingers. She either didn't realize or she didn't care that it was gone because she actually wanted it to be gone. The latter was the more likely option, as her little, no longer cold, hands kept digging into his hair and his shoulders; her usually well-controlled voice, which was now very unsteady and breathlessly hoarse, was encouraging him, urging him on, begging him for more.

Severus had no idea how, but suddenly he found himself not wearing his robe any longer and undoing her dressing gown and sliding it over her shoulders. It, too, dropped to the floor. She boldly tugged on his shirt, sliding her hands underneath it—by doing so sending ripples of pleasure through him—while her mouth sought his again, fervently, almost violently, kissing him. In no time, the shirt joined the robe on the cold dungeon floor.

As cold as the floor might have been, the dungeons seemed not cold at all anymore.

Her body seemed to be on fire. Its heat was seeping through her long black silken nightgown. Her white skin had become of a faint pink, but it was still very light due to the contrast to her nightgown. 

He found that the two of them had moved towards the wall on the far side of the room—although he couldn't remember how on earth they'd gotten there. Severus didn't even care. He cared about nothing but what she was doing to him. Her luscious mouth kissed its way away from his mouth and down his throat while her hands pulled on his belt, undoing it…

And then he found himself having her up against the wall, her legs around him, her hands cupping his face, her hot breath mingling with his, her gaze locked with his. Her eyes were dark green with passion. The nipples of her breasts brushed his chest with every movement she made. That touch was so light, it was hardly there. Maybe that was why he was so… _conscious…_ of it.

Apparently, he had pushed up her nightgown, as he grew aware of the fact that his hands were on her thighs and hips, pressing her tightly against him. He felt her muscles tense and relax in his grip. He felt the blood in her rush through her veins, driven by her fast heartbeat. She followed his every move, straining against him, grinding herself against him and crossing her legs behind his back to steady herself. It allowed him to move his hands up and down her body, away from her slender legs towards her breasts.

Her moaning and something that he'd like to call exclamations—although they were very soft for lack of sufficient breath, and quite incoherent—increased as he stroked and kneaded her firm round breasts, teased her stiff nipples with his thumb first, making them grow even harder, before he bent his head to continue their tender violation with his lips and his tongue and finally his teeth, nibbling and sucking.

She dug her fingernails deep into the skin on his shoulders, and let her head fall back, arching her body, which was shuddering with passion and desire.

He was absent-mindedly aware that he too was moaning and groaning against her breasts, her throat, her mouth.

It was the most erotic experience that he'd ever had. That was something he could tell. He'd had his share of willing women, so to speak—some of them too willing—and the greater part of them had either been gone the next morning or said something along the lines of '_If_ we meet again, we could repeat this.'

Those memories hurt a bit. The politically correct expression for what approximately eighty percent of Severus's sexual encounters had been was 'one night love affair', if one liked to have it sound tasteful enough. The remaining ones were meaningless, as the objects of his affections were either dead or had turned out to be not really interested—or interesting—after all. He had not been too good with choosing whom to take to bed or by whom to be taken to bed when he had been younger. That was something that he couldn't deny. Sometimes he'd like to make it undone. Experiences like those didn't actually increase one's confidence—or, for that matter, one's trust in something like love.

Was Severus really that much in love with her as he thought he was? He'd have to ponder it as soon as his head would stop spinning…

Indeed, everything around him was a blur; her sighs echoed in his head…

The grip she had on him loosened and disappeared…

His hands passed through her…

The light darkened…

She was slipping away from him and he couldn't even see her anymore…

He felt himself falling, swirling through space or time or both.

_Where is she?_ was his only thought before—

He opened his eyes and found himself, breathing heavily, in his dimly lit bedroom. The charms that secured somewhat of an artificial sunrise had already begun to glow faintly. It must be morning already. Yes, it was indeed morning, he realized when he checked the time. The Dreamless Sleep Potion had apparently worn off, thus providing him with a very intense dream.

Severus was dazed. He hadn't had a dream like that for years—or at least none that he could remember that clearly. He'd been dreaming of her several times already, but none of those dreams had gone so far. If they had, he didn't remember them.

It had felt so _real_. Even now, he felt as if it had been real. His body was definitely of the opinion that it had been real. His skin was still flushed and covered in goose bumps, as it seemed to recall the sensation of her skin against his, her body around him, of her hands stroking him, roaming over him, of her mouth kissing its way up and down his body. 

But it had been a dream. Merely a dream of his feverish mind. A projection of his subconscious longing for physical contact, perhaps. A succubus with her body and voice his mind had created.

All of a sudden, he wanted nothing more than fall asleep again, have that dream and never wake up again. He could spend the rest of his life like that. If he couldn't have her in reality, if he couldn't go to her in real life, in his dreams she came to him. If he couldn't have her in real life, in his dreams she wanted him. It was the second best thing, wasn't it? It was so much more than he could ever expect from her. But at the same time, it wasn't enough. It was, after all, an illusion, no matter how real it might feel. There were so many little things his dream image of her would never be for the sole reason that he didn't know them yet. He found he wanted to know everything. It was strange. He could honestly say that he'd never before had the urge to know _everything_ about something or someone. Maybe it was so because she revealed so little about herself. Maybe it was so because the less likely something became, the more Severus wanted it…

If only she'd be more accessible in reality. Just a tiny bit. He didn't ask for remotely as much as she had been in his dream. He'd very much like to be the more active part in reality. Male pride, maybe. Predatory instincts.

Those were the thoughts that raced each other through his brain as Severus lay there, the dream startlingly clearly engraved in his memory as though it had not been merely a dream. He bathed in the memory of it. 

Perhaps he should go look for the Mirror of Erised? Would it show what he had just been dreaming? He could think of no reason why it shouldn't. It was what he wanted. The words Sariss in his dream had spoken were the truth. Of course. His mind had made her speak them.

As he got up and dressed, he idly wondered if she really looked like she had in his dream, if she really sounded like that when only desire ruled her, in the throes of passion, if she really felt like that, if she tasted like that, if the real thing would be the same or better.

He found that this dream had made him curious—but on the other hand, it almost made him despair.

He yearned for her. Her glances, her voice, her touch. He wanted her to be his completely.

How long would it take for the walls to crumble and make him incapable of hiding his emotions from her? How long until he would be rejected and embarrassed?

There had to be a way…

**~*~*~**

Harry had made the team practise hard for their upcoming match against Ravenclaw. Despite the fact that the latter had been creamed by the Slytherins, Harry expected them to have practised equally hard to make up for it now. However, as long as Dane didn't catch the Snitch, victory would be secured.

Cauldwell announced the teams and then the game was on.

Harry rose high above the pitch, watching his team's performance closely, yet at the same time, he scanned the surroundings for a glint of gold.

Jamie had just thrown the Quaffle for Ginny to catch who sped up towards the Ravenclaw goalposts and scored effortlessly. It was a good thing that she flew the Firebolt. She was barely more than a red blur when she started another attack on the Ravenclaw Keeper.

"Ginny Weasley scores again!" Cauldwell's voice echoed over the pitch. "The score's thirty to zero for Gryffindor, as Ron Weasley, Gryffindor's fabulous Keeper pulls a spectacular save, thus preventing Fawcett from scoring!"

Harry meanwhile swerved around the pitch, straining his eyes to see the Snitch against the glimmering whiteness of the snow that covered the pitch and the tops of the stands. It was a nuisance to his eyes. And the gleaming watches and glasses of the audience weren't helpful either.

"Quirke scores! Weasley couldn't see that one coming. Fabulous manoeuvre. Gryffindor back in possession…" 

There was another glint of something shiny, and Dane went in direction of the Slytherin stands. Harry also followed for a short distance until he realized that some piece of jewellery Professor Ravon was wearing had produced that sparkle. He immediately swerved to the left and turned around to see Natalie score as Dennis had struck the Bludger that had been aiming for Ginny right away from her. It slammed into Weinberg instead.

Gryffindor scored several times, perfectly exerting the moves Harry had made the team practise. Ravenclaw, too, scored a few times, although Ron managed to hold the Quaffle most of the times before it even came near the hoops.

The Snitch was still nowhere to be seen. How long was the game already going?

As the Ravenclaws started another attack at the Gryffindor goalposts, Ron had to do a Sloth Grip Roll to avoid a Bludger Colin had overlooked. Orla Quirke scored.

"That makes the score 170-50 for Gryffindor!"

There was another glint of gold hovering high above the pitch, a bit to the right of the Hufflepuff stands. Was it the Snitch? Had Dane seen it, too? It didn't look like it. No, he hadn't noticed—but he was much closer to the golden glimmer than Harry. He tried to unobtrusively get closer to where the Snitch—Harry was fairly sure that it was indeed the Snitch by now—was hovering, nervously jumping from left to right and up and down. Then Harry dived down, provoking Dane into following him, ("Harry Potter must have seen the Snitch!") before he quickly pulled around and swerved towards where the Snitch was still hovering.

His hand closed on the struggling ball. "I've got it!" Harry yelled. "I've got the Snitch!"

"POTTER'S GOT THE SNITCH!" Cauldwell yelled. "GRYFFINDOR WIN!"

**~*~*~**

Sariss was on her way to the dungeons. It was almost midnight and she had run out of Dreamless Sleep Potion again. She hadn't realized that she had used it so often lately and in so large doses…

As she walked down the huge marble staircase that led down from the first floor to the Entrance Hall she was glad, she'd thrown a shawl around her shoulders. It was significantly cold. Usually that didn't bother so much, as that was her usual disposition, but when it was very cold—which it was, Hogwarts castle being very draughty during wintertime—she was glad to have a warm garment with her to keep the little warmth she possessed close, although it wasn't of much use. 

At the same time as she reached the Entrance Hall an annoying singsong voice almost shattered her ears. "Someone's gonna be in so much trouble! Student out of bounds at night!" and a figure dressed in bright colours grinning from ear to ear swished past her and hovered in midair right in the middle between her and the staircase to the dungeons.

"Let me pass, Peeves. I'm not a student," Sariss groaned, trying to push him to the side, but the annoying poltergeist wouldn't let her.

"Oops! Ha ha! My fault!" He seemed to overcome his _astonishment_ at her status all too quickly since he started circling around her, pulling on her hair. "But it's so much fun!"

"Peeves! Stop this before I get really mad at you…" He'd always liked to annoy her by doing this.

"Ha ha!" was his only answer. Obviously, he hadn't grown much brighter during the last few years.

He started circling her, swishing through the air around her but still preventing her from entering the dungeons.

"Stop this immediately, Peeves," Sariss said now, her voice a dangerous whisper. "Remember when I flattened you against the wall? You want me to do that again?"

He didn't stop. "You don't remember? Apparently, I didn't leave a lasting impression…" she muttered. It wasn't really an option. She'd spent a few long minutes explaining to various people that Peeves wouldn't let her pass otherwise and had hardly escaped detention, although she'd lost Slytherin twenty points for 'flattening the unsuspecting un-dead.' 

She spoke up, "Would you rather have an appointment with the _Bloody Baron_? I'm sure he'd be quite cooperative if I asked him nicely. Maybe I should call for the _Bloody Baron_!" Her voice had been increasing in volume as she said this until, at the end, it had risen to an angry yell.

That seemed to get his attention. "The Bloody Baron?" he screeched, as a gust of icy cold swept through the room, a distinct sign that the just mentioned person was approaching. Right on cue. No wonder, they were not far from the dungeons, after all. 

And a second later the Bloody Baron himself swept up the staircase from the dungeons.

"Good evening, your bloodiness," Sariss curtsied politely, a perfectly executed Elizabethan curtsy—her dancing lessons had proved quite helpful so far. As a Slytherin, you had better know what was appropriate when facing your House Ghost. Especially when it was the Bloody Baron, who was the only one who could possibly rid you of Peeves. And if good manners pleased the Baron, she would show them in abundance. After all, it could—and _did_—prove quite useful to have good connections to some people whether they were alive or un-dead…

"You called, Madam?" the Baron asked. Sariss could almost see Peeves shrink, and if it were possible for a ghost to faint, he, most certainly, would have.

"Thank you very much, but actually I did not. I was just commentating on how extraordinarily clammy your ectoplasm seemed to be lately, contrary to that of peeving Peeves here," Sariss said, thinking that flattery would get her rid of Peeves _and_ the Bloody Baron. Peeves was annoying and the Bloody Baron made her feel even colder than usual; she shivered, for the Baron had stepped—no, rather floated—very near to the place she was standing at.

"Flattery gets you everywhere nowadays," he said, actually winking. His icy breath (_Ghosts can breathe? Strange… Well, maybe if they really put some effort into it…_) made her take a hasty step backwards. "I _do_ apologize, Milady. I keep forgetting that the touch of the dead is an icy touch indeed… If you'll excuse me now?" He bowed.

Sariss nodded eagerly. 

"Of course. And I thank you very much."

"Peeves!" the Bloody Baron boomed, already on his way to the first floor. "Go bother some Gryffindors if you must bother anyone at all!"

Peeves squeaked. "I-I… i-i-immediately, s-s-sir, B-bloody B-baron, sir…" he stuttered and rushed right through the ceiling.

She took a deep breath as soon as the ghosts were gone, drawing the shawl tighter around her shoulders. Thankfully, it was a large, long shawl, made of some velvety material, soft and—supposedly—warm…

Sariss was tired. The previous day had been a Quidditch Saturday and as good as the excitement felt, it was also exhausting. All this cheering and jumping always left her somewhat drained. She only wanted to quickly throw the ingredients together and brew the Potion. It didn't even have to be done expertly. She was not in the mood to fall asleep over a cauldron out of sheer fastidiousness.

_If only it were done already. If only conjuring potions weren't forbidden._

She walked down the narrow staircase and along the first cold passageway until she reached the Potions classroom. A faint light could be seen, seeping through the keyhole and the narrow fissure at the threshold of the door. Obviously there was someone else who had some business to attend to in the Potions dungeon… No student would dare to be there in the dead of night; if they got caught… So there was but one possibility… Severus Snape must be working late…

Her theory was confirmed as soon as she'd opened the door. Snape was standing there, bent over a desk on which a cauldron sat. Sariss saw he was wearing Dragonhide gloves, so he must be working with something toxic or corrosive… _Acid fungi, perhaps? Or wolfsbane? _she thought as she noticed the smell that invaded the room. It smelt like unfinished Dreamless Sleep Potion. Sariss knew every stage of it by heart. He was indeed brewing Dreamless Sleep Potion, just as she had intended. _Definitely acid fungi _and _wolfsbane… _

"Good evening, Professor Snape," Sariss said quietly as Snape had looked up shortly and greeted her with a short "Miss Ravon."

She went to the shelf with the cauldrons, and as she took a middle-sized pewter one, Snape spoke up, "You won't be needing this. I'm already working on some Dreamless Sleep Potion, as I'm quite sure you've already noticed."

Not putting the cauldron back into the shelf she answered with a somewhat exasperated sounding sigh that was, however, born more out of confusion than of irritation, "I told you already that it's not necessary." 

"It is not a problem," he stated simply.

"But—"

"I said it is not a problem," Snape repeated harshly. Then he continued in a surprisingly tender voice, "Has it never occurred to you that I might just need some of it myself sometimes?" Sariss only looked at him; somehow, she suddenly wished his face hadn't been obscured by his hair so she could have at least tried to read his expression. The man guarded his emotions too well—but on the other hand, perhaps it was better that way. "I just thought I'd make a bit more, so…" he trailed off. 

"Well, then…" she began, feeling slightly insecure at his behaviour—almost as though she were a student again. "How's it coming along?" she asked a little shakily, putting the cauldron back into its respective place, and then walked towards the desk Snape was standing behind stirring the potion.

She moved to take a look into the cauldron. It was coming along quite nicely—No, that was an understatement. He really was a Potions _master_. The potion was simmering gently; its initial dirty grey-black colour was turning into the proper shade of purple of a well-brewed Dreamless Sleep Potion. It was perfect.

"It's done," Snape said, thus stating the obvious, taking off his Dragonhide gloves and reaching to grab some phials.

Sariss quickly summoned the ladle that had been lying on a nearby table and handed it to him so he could pour the steaming liquid into the phials. He accepted it with a nod and a whispered "Thank you." Stoppering them securely after he'd filled them, he put them back onto the desk, one by one. Snape banished the remains of the potion and cleaned the desk with a flick of his wand.

She noticed absent-mindedly how precise and secure every movement of his was as he used the Potions equipment—he had very clever hands—beautifully shaped hands, slender but… **Don't go there!** a little voice in the back of her mind admonished her once again. It had been quite busy doing this for the last few days—ever since Christmas (with interruptions, however)… It must be her tiredness. She wasn't thinking clearly anymore. Yes, that must be it… But how come she'd never realized how _gorgeous_ his hands were before? He had taught her for years… Yet, she had never noticed… Strange that now they seemed almost hypnotizing… 

**This is not the point here… **the voice spoke up—_again_.

_Why is this not the point here? Haven't you realized that thinking about _this_ makes it seem—I don't know—not so cold in here anymore?_

**Frankly, I don't think it has anything to do with the location…**

"Miss Ravon?" Snape said, startling her out of her reverie. "If you'd…"

"What?" She noticed that he was holding out some phials towards her. "Oh. Right. Thank you," she added, a bit embarrassed that he'd caught her off guard—if he'd noticed that, he, fortunately, did not show it—but she reached out to take them from him nonetheless.

As she did so, the last thing she needed now, happened. She accidentally brushed his hand with her fingertips. Thoughts sprang to mind of how electrifying, how soft, how smooth, how—despite the low temperature of the room—_warm_ his skin was, how she actually longed to kiss his lips once more just like under the mistletoe… Thoughts that made her feel… _uncomfortable _around him, as though she couldn't grasp a clear thought even if she tried to conjure one up and it danced the tango on the teacher's desk wearing a dress robe and singing 'Subtle thoughts are here again.' 

"Thank you," she repeated, at a loss for anything else to say, finally taking hold of the phials. 

That done, she racked her brain for something else to say. Her hands were visibly trembling as she fidgeted with the phials. If she kept this up for very long, she'd drop them—and how embarrassing would that be?

"You're shaking," Snape said.

"Cold," Sariss said, rather clumsily tugging the phials safely into a pocket of her robes.

**Nice and monosyllabic, isn't it?**

He stepped closer. Sariss wasn't sure if she should take a step back or not. But it didn't matter, since that wouldn't have been an option anyway. She already had a desk in her way.

**And such a good excuse that is…**

Snape gently brushed a strand of her hair away. He had already done that once and it still startled her. It was too affectionate; it aroused a longing in her that she thought she had managed to bury. She had been telling herself that she didn't need this, any of this, that she didn't even want this. She still tried to convince herself that this was the truth—and she could too if only he stopped doing… whatever it was that he did. Being so close yet too far away (if he'd only get it over with so Sariss could think clearly again), being so bold yet so very gentle (not providing enough reason for Sariss to simply push him away and run), daring to make her feel that way, to make her want to be touched in a way that had previously been unimaginable to her…

_Don't touch my skin again. Don't touch my skin_, she kept repeating. If he did—

**Don't tell me that this isn't exactly what you want.**

_I…_

His fingertips slithered over her cheekbone. Sariss swallowed.

_It was an accident, I'm sure._

**You can't be remotely as thick as you pretend to be.**

_It… I'm…_

As his thumb lightly ran over her lower lip, her breath caught in her throat.

**You know what's coming, don't you?**

_Well…_

Sariss wasn't sure if she was exactly where she wanted to be or if she'd rather prefer to be anywhere but where she was. She felt goose bumps erupt all over her skin; shivers raced through her system. Desperately, she tried not to look at the Potions master. Time had seemingly decided to stand still for the sole reason of torturing her with his very presence.

Snape's fingers slithered under her chin, tilting her face up a bit. Sariss avoided his gaze, holding her breath. She didn't even dare breathe in case it would encourage him—or discourage him or whatever. 

He stooped slightly and brushed his lips over hers—

_Mistletoe alert…_

—only for the fraction of a second.

This was like the dream she kept having—although not precisely…

Sariss snapped back into reality when she heard his voice. "Still cold?" he asked softly.

She felt her cheeks flush at the emotions she sensed coming from him, the emotions that seemed to penetrate her. She could hardly breathe at their impact on her. Was this what—she could hardly believe that she was considering it—was this what _desire_ felt like? She had never been alone with someone who had felt _desire_. That was after all an emotion that was far too private. Never had she sensed it without it being mingled with many other feelings, never so pure, never had she known who had been the one who felt it—not that she would have cared. It had never mattered. She had known it hadn't been directed at her. But now…

Sariss wasn't sure what to make of it. She'd have to think about it—later, when she could think coherently again, without her train of thought being interrupted by the tingling sensation that was still dancing over her lips like dozens of shooting stars.

**Breathe, dear. Air in. Air out. You know the procedure…**

She took a breath and opened her mouth to say something. No sound would come out.

**Don't you want to say something?**

"Erm…" Sariss finally managed. She couldn't think of anything to say. 

**Very eloquent. Impressive. Rhetoric masterpiece, really.**

Lacking anything to say or do, she slipped past the Potions master and, hurriedly sweeping out of the dungeon—her robes billowing, her shawl fluttering behind her—she at least remembered her manners and managed to mutter—or rather _breathe_—a quick "Excuse me." It was surprising that her jumbled mind was capable of stringing a sentence as simple as that together at all.

Racing up the staircases, she returned to her chambers, undressed quickly and went to sleep after having taken the potion. She felt confused, embarrassed, light-headed… simply put: strange. She tried to force any thought about the Potions master out of her mind, which was very difficult since he simply refused entirely to leave her thoughts. The facts that her cheek and chin were still tingling, her lips still prickling with the aftermath of his kiss weren't exactly helpful either… 

Thankfully, the potion added to her tiredness in a way that was enough for her to fall asleep almost instantly, without being forced to think too much about the Potions master's touch.

The dreams that kept coming despite the potion (it seemed either not to work or merely prevent her from having her usual nightmare), were an entirely different matter…

**~*~*~**

Severus Snape held out some of the phials for her to take. "Miss Ravon?" he asked when she didn't seem to have noticed it. She looked tired. "If you'd…"

"What? Oh. Right. Thank you." She seemed nervous now, startled, as if she had been deep in thought. He still held the phials in his hand, offering them to her. And she took them, with slightly trembling hands, accidentally brushing his hand with her fingertips. Snape almost jumped out of his skin, but he wouldn't be who he was if he let this show (again—once had been enough)… Her touch was cold as ice but it was also—electrifying; the same as it had felt when he had kissed her full on the lips on Christmas because of that damned mistletoe… But at second thought, it hadn't been that damned. It also made him painfully aware that the dream he'd had, had taken place exactly where he was now.

He wished he were dreaming, all of a sudden.

"Thank you," she whispered again, nervously fidgeting with the phials. 

**She'll drop them.**

"You're shaking," he said. She was indeed shaking.

"Cold," she said with a trembling voice, putting the frail phials away. 

**I thought it didn't bother her that much?**

_It doesn't, not that much. It's not the real reason._

**And what is the real reason?**

_That's what I intend to find out—right now._

Severus took a few steps towards her. She was trapped. Snape in front of her, a desk in her back. No way out, but to try and slip past him in a way that would appear impolite at least, rude at most. If she did that now, he'd know for sure if it was of any use to waste all his conscious thoughts on her—as he had done for weeks and months by now. As though it lay within his powers to banish the thought of her from his mind…

Hesitantly, he twirled a strand of her hair around his hand and pushed it back. It was still as soft and smooth as it had been the last time he had done this. He had almost thought it, too, had been a dream—but that couldn't be; Severus had nightmares, but no dreams—the delicious one of a few nights ago hadn't returned. Instead, he'd dreamt of dark and evil things. His mind had gone and looked for the worst things in his past and present and had mixed a cocktail that had him violently jerk awake when it was at its worst.

But the feel of her hair was still there. It was as he remembered it.

It had been real.

Could he dare to… Should he try?

Her eyes that were partly hidden by those gently curved long dark lashes darted from left to right and back again, not sure where to rest, their blinking giving away her insecurity—as if everything else about her hadn't already—as he let his fingertips journey over her cheek. Her skin was cool; its touch sent the tingling sensation through his body again.

Now that he had been prepared for this to happen, it was more than pleasant—almost too pleasant.

**You might dream about her again tonight…**

Never before had he been able to take a look at her face as he did now. On 1st September, he hadn't been exactly enthusiastic about her presence. Then they had been fighting. After that, she had ignored him. Then she had worn her Muggle witch costume. She hadn't looked like herself, more like a projection of herself, but nonetheless stunning, when she had apologized—and not because of the costume—and Snape hadn't been very lenient either, now that he thought about it. (_I need more practice in those things_, he sighed inwardly.) Then they'd had a bit of a misunderstanding. At Christmas, it had been over all too quickly, as though it had never happened at all… Simply too many people…

But now! Time had ceased to pass. How long had they been here already? A minute, a year, a lifetime?

Severus brushed his thumb over her trembling lower lip. Cherry red. Yes, like a ripe cherry, soft and certainly even sweeter. Her lips. He could still recall their reserved but tender touch… He could also recall their not so reserved touch—but that one hadn't been real.

_How can nature be so cruel and make them look so inviting, but—_

**But forget to hand out invitations? To you, that is.**

_Exactly._

**Well… Why don't you just invite yourself? There can't always be mistletoe doing the work for you.**

_The worst she can do is slap me, isn't it?_

**The worst she could do is slap you and tell you to go to hell. If she added the right insults—**

_Enough! It's worth it._

**Really?**

_Yes. That and much more._

Severus let his fingertip slither down her cheek and under her chin, tipping her face up.

**Remarkable how she can avoid your gaze even now, don't you think?**

_What do you think about that? She's holding her breath._

**Hmm. I'm not sure. Either she prays for it to be over already or she prays for you to start and never end.**

_You know what? You were never less helpful._

**Don't ask me then.**

_Let's be optimistic for a change and hope that the fact that she hasn't fled already is a good sign, alright?_

Severus steeled himself. He could still step back. He didn't have to. But if he did that now, would it be an insult to her? Most certainly, it would confuse her; even more than she was already, it was obvious that she, too, didn't have much practice in matters that could lead to being 'romantically involved' with someone. If he simply stepped back now, wouldn't that mean that he was wasting a chance to be—as small as the glimmer of hope was—a chance to be… liked, fancied, or perhaps even—_loved_?

Oh gods, how he longed for her. If she'd only touch him for once; by doing so, show him that he wasn't wasting his affections—not that he had anyone else to waste them on, moreover anyone who was worth it, someone who'd accept them. Never before had his intentions been so sincere and serious—well, once perhaps… but _these_ lips now he had already touched with his—if only once. And it had felt like heaven—and hell, when the thought had crossed his mind that it most likely wouldn't happen again. 

If only she'd put her arms around him, draw him closer, cup his face in her small cold ivory hands just like he'd seen her do in the Mirror of Erised…

**You'd love to… er… _warm_ them, wouldn't you?**

_If I had just one wish, only one demand…_

By Merlin, if he kept on imagining her skin against his he'd go insane.

**Get it over with already! You'll still be standing here tomorrow if you don't—**

Severus lowered his mouth to hers, only brushing her slightly parted lips, savouring the sensation he so ached for. Her lips still quivered; their feel, their softness, their very texture, made him want more. It was pure torture to draw back before he wouldn't be able to keep himself from drowning her in a less than decent kiss—and that after what could hardly have been a second.

"Still cold?" he breathed, not quite trusting his voice.

A rosy shimmer crept onto her cheeks. She looked so very lovely that he almost repeated his actions from a moment ago. But she didn't look him in the eyes. This woman was so strange. When they were speaking in a normal way—not shouting, that is—she simply avoided looking him in the eyes at all costs. It might after all be a good thing that she did that. If her gaze were to lock with his…

**Don't go there again. It's doing us no good.**

"Erm…" was all that she managed.

**Almost as eloquent as you were.**

_Well, that keeps her from telling me to go to hell._

**She could still slap you.**

_She won't. The right moment to do that has passed unused._

She slipped past him, one of her tresses slithering over one of Severus's hands, making him long for touching them, gathering them up, burying his face in her hair.

After having muttered a very quick "Excuse me," she was gone within the blink of an eye; like a black shadow she rushed through the doorway and disappeared; her retreating footsteps echoing in the poorly lit corridor as she made her way back up into the Entrance Hall.

Severus Snape stared at the door for quite some time before he left the classroom and went to sleep, completely forgetting to take the Dreamless Sleep Potion with him, as all he could think of were the prickling of his lips and the sensation of hers on them.

And still the thought of her skin against his tormented him. More than ever.

**Next chapter:**

Sariss avoids Snape, Dumbledore announces a Valentine's Ball,  Snape tries to be nice, Sariss collides with Snape. And Neville gets a last-minute date for the ball.


	14. Eye To Eye

**Author's note:** This time, thanks go to **Butterfly**, one of the most loyal and thorough reviewers I've ever had. What a short author's note…

Chapter 13: Eye to Eye 

**_And now I guess you're wondering why  
We never could see eye to eye  
Oh, but never mind  
And now I guess it's hard to see  
What has gotten into me  
Oh, but never mind_**

_—A-ha: Barely hanging on_

**So, what are you going to do now?**

_What do you mean?_

**Don't play dumb. You only ask that when you know perfectly well what I'm implying.**

_So what? I have no idea what to do now. Perhaps I should just act as though nothing happened?_

**May I make a suggestion?**

_Why so formal? Out with it._

**For a start, you could be a bit more relaxed around him, you know, keep your conversations not so formal. And try to rein in your temper. I know it's my temper, too, but you're in contact with the outside world. So, be nice.**

_That's all?_

**What did you expect? That I'd tell you to throw yourself at him and make a marriage proposal?**

_You're exaggerating way beyond what's acceptable._

**Hey, I'm as insecure as you are. For me it's just easier because I'm just the counsellor, so to speak.**

_Then do your job. Please. Help me out here._

**Sorry, love. Now you're on your own—for a while, until I've figured out another strategy…**

Thus, Sariss had avoided anything that only bordered on deserving to be called a 'private moment' with the Potions master all weekend. It wasn't as though she didn't long for his touch. It was just that she didn't know how to approach him. For once in her life she wished for a reason to be angry with him so she could damn him to hell and concentrate properly on other things again.

Naturally, they had spoken a few words at mealtimes, even in the staff room—but not more than that. Nothing of any deeper meaning, nothing that could lead to a somewhat _awkward_ situation again—as though they'd needed words for that to happen.

So it happened, that by Monday morning, Sariss had decided to let the matter rest. It was no use dwelling on it, was it? After all, she fared much better without her thoughts constantly drifting off in a direction that she was by now seriously tempted to call 'forbidden'.

She arrived deliberately late for breakfast that day.

As soon as she had sat down, Professor McGonagall stood up and shouted, "Silence, please!"

**~*~*~**

The murmurs in the Great Hall gradually subsided. Dumbledore stood up and began to speak. "I have an announcement to make. In those dark times, filled with fear and misery it is crucial for us all not to lose hope, not to lose the ability to be happy. Thus I have decided that there will be a ball on 14th February, a Valentine's Ball."

Applause rocked the Great Hall. Dumbledore raised his hands indicating for the students to be quiet again. After a few seconds it was.

"As a matter of fact this ball will have an actual theme. It is 'Magic In All Times' which means that each of you will choose a certain time in history and charm yourselves an appropriate costume. I have already informed Madam Pince who is very delighted to provide the books you'll need for this. A very good Transfiguration practice that is, too," he added with a wink.

"But that's hardly two weeks," Ginny whispered horrified. "How are we supposed to learn those spells so quickly?"

"However, if you find that you perhaps have better things to do—revising for your exams, for example—than charm your clothes yourselves, Professors McGonagall and Flitwick have already volunteered to assist you—."

"I shall be delighted to help, too," Professor Ravon interrupted the headmaster who smiled broadly.

"I was hoping you'd say that. Any help is very welcome and very appreciated," Dumbledore said. "If you intend to attend the festivities you should perhaps bring a picture or something similar of the clothing you'd like to have. It will make it easier for your Professors to put the spells on your clothes then… Should there be enough interest, Professors Sinistra and Vector would be delighted to teach you a bit of dancing. Interested students simply go to the Arithmancy classroom after dinner tonight. Very well, continue your breakfast. I wouldn't want it to be my fault if your teachers were forced to take away some points because you're late…"

"Ooh, there hasn't been a Valentine's Ball for years," Hermione exclaimed.

"Wasn't the Hallowe'en Ball enough?" Ron didn't sound very enthusiastic.

"That was not a ball, it was simply a costume party. Not much different from any other Hallowe'en feast—except for a bit of dancing—which you didn't do anyway."

Harry, noticing that they were heading for a bit of a row again, quickly asked, "So… er… any idea for your costumes already? Ginny?"

"Difficult question… Hmm… I'd like a really nice dress, something you don't wear everyday, something special, something on which a lot of material has been wasted on." Ginny had a dreamy look on her face.

"Say, if I were to choose the same time in history as you do…" Harry began hesitantly, dreading the answer already. "Would that involve me in a pair of tights?"

"It's leggings, not tights," she said far too quickly.

"That was a clear yes. I can hardly wait."

"I'm sure we'll find something you won't feel too weird in…"

"Hermione, please don't tell me I've got to wear tights, too…" Ron pleaded.

"Leggings."

"What?"

"They're leggings," Harry, Hermione and Ginny answered in perfect unison.

"Harry, mate, we're in a lot of trouble… Er… Hermione, listen up. I've already messed this up once… You see, I don't want you to think I take it for granted that you'll go to the Ball with me…" Ron began. "So… Would you accompany me to the Ball?"

"So sweet, Ron. I'd love to. And I appreciate that you're going to put yourself through that ordeal only to please me."

Ron looked rather flattered and blushed deeply crimson when Hermione gave him a noisy smooch.

Harry was rather glad that Ron had actually managed to ask Hermione. Three years ago at the infamous Yule Ball—Harry still shuddered at the memory—that hadn't been so. 

Harry noticed Ron breathing a sigh of relief, and put two and two together and got four—meaning that he reckoned that Ron had just had the same thought. There was no need to repeat that, thank you very much, but no.

Ron hadn't thought of asking Hermione until a short time before the Ball. She'd already agreed to accompany Viktor Krum at the time and had been furious when Ron had stated the obvious: "Hermione, you're a girl…" Mildly put, Hermione hadn't been very pleased back then.

Leaning towards Ginny Harry whispered, "Play along now, alright?"

She nodded and Harry cleared his throat exaggeratedly. "Ron, my dear friend, would you be so kind as to trust me with your sister's virtue and grant me the honour of accompanying your absolutely adoring sibling to the Ball?"

Ginny sighed and pretended to faint.

Ron tried to keep a straight face. "I wouldn't trust you with my sister's virtue if you were gagged and bound," he said in a dead serious voice. "And which one of my siblings would you like to accompany to the ball? Certainly we could get George or Fred to agree. With Percy… I don't know. Charlie on the other hand…" 

He finally couldn't bite back laughter any longer and joined the others who were already sniggering uncontrollably. He caught his breath and with a mischievous grin, with as much dignity as he could muster after this not so unexpected fit of mirth, he added: "Your request shall be granted, dear sir. But remember: Keep a distance of at least twelve inches and your hands on her waist…"

"Only if you do the same when you're dancing with Hermione."

"She's not my sister," Ron exclaimed in mock-outrage.

"Exactly."

**~*~*~**

"A Valentine's Ball," Sariss said. "Nice idea."

"Oh, it's not only going to be a simple Ball. We'll have the full program. I already settled everything."

"Oh dear. Don't tell me this means pink hearts and all that."

"To a certain extent it does," Dumbledore said merrily. "I still remember the last Valentine's Day we really celebrated here. It was a bit too much, I must admit. But there were some aspects to it that I simply found hilarious." He stood up, still chuckling, nodded and left.

"What have I manoeuvred myself into?" she muttered.

"Just be glad you're not the one teaching how to dance. Those lessons tend to be hell."

"How would you know, Professor Snape?"

"A horde of eager girls dragging a horde of extremely reluctant boyfriends after them…" he trailed off. "I leave the rest to your able imagination."

"I had no idea that dancing proves to be such torture for the male half of the population. I always thought boys just liked to be begged and pleaded to so the girl would feel special as soon as she'd achieved her task," Sariss said, not quite sure if she meant this in an ironic way or not.

"Interesting assumption. It might be true in a few cases," he said. "Although I don't think that it applies to many."

"Really?"

"Of course. I should know, as I am part of said male half of the population, shouldn't I?"

"So, hypothetically, you could enlighten me."

"Practically too."

"Well then… Who had to drag whom out on the dance floor on Hallowe'en?" Finally, she'd gotten it out of her system.

"That was an exception," he said casually.

"Was it now?"

"Yes. It just confirmed the rule."

"Did it?"

"Yes."

"Uh-huh."

"Is it just me or is this conversation revolving on the spot?" Snape asked.

"Guess so," Sariss replied, totally agreeing with him. If they sat here for much longer, playing a game of who could use more words without really speaking—or, in Sariss's case, fewer words… She'd have to look him in the face at some point or other. 

He was looking at her. She could almost _feel_ his dark smouldering gaze crawling over her. His scent had already begun to worm its way into her mind, making her feel dizzy again. It was so irritating. And furthermore, how were you supposed to converse when suddenly every word of his sounded like a caress—when every word of his seemed to brush over her skin like satin? But maybe she just imagined that because of her hypersensitive—and as of recently, quite overreacting—senses.

Fortunately, she had her breakfast to focus on—she hardly noticed the taste of the strawberry jam—at least until she finished it, which was exactly… now.

She fidgeted with her napkin, just to occupy her hands with something. Sometimes she had no idea where she ought to put them, and they were so cold again.

**Which leads us to the thought that you'd want them to be warmed by—.**

_Not now, you lusting—!_

**Whom are you calling 'lusting', when you're the one who—.**

_You can't hear that now, but I'm inwardly sighing in exasperation, just to let you know. I'm just glad I'm not alone with—._

Sariss suddenly became aware of the fact that it had become awfully quiet in the Great Hall. 

It was empty. 

_Oh dear. Alone with him._

**Find an excuse. I haven't figured out yet what to do about this thing you two seem to be working on…**

_There is no 'you two'. And neither one of us is 'working' on anything!_

**And what a pity that is, isn't it?**

_Very funny. How about helping me find a reason to excuse myself—NOW!_

**Hmm. Isn't there something you have to do? A place you have to be?**

She quickly glanced at her watch. Five minutes until lessons started! And Sariss had a longer way to go than Snape too!

"Excuse me, Professor," she muttered and stood up. 

"Listen, Miss—."

"Late," she felt obliged to explain, indicating her watch, and dashed away.

Never in her life had she been so glad that time had passed by quickly…

**~*~*~**

And gone she was, robes and hair flying behind her.

Snape stood up and went on his way out and then down the staircase to the dungeons. "Late, damn it," he mumbled to himself. Just when he'd wanted to use the opportunity to—.

**Yes, what were you up to now?**

_I'm not sure. I want to tell her so many things—._

**Like what?**

_Maybe that I'm sorry for treating her the way I did; and then maybe for—how did you put it?—'inviting myself'? _

**Oh, sure. Right. You're sorry? Liar. You're only hoping that once you do that she'll say that she didn't mind, that she might even have enjoyed it, isn't it?**

_Perhaps… And maybe that I'd like her to—No, it was better that she left. I wouldn't have been able to complete the sentence properly anyway._

**This being so shy isn't quite like you, I must say. Not after you know what.**

_I don't know what had gotten into me that day._

**You've been acting not quite like yourself for weeks.**

_I don't feel like myself lately._

**You're trying to be nice for a change. That's a good thing.**

_The only thing is… Sometimes I can't think properly when she's near me. It must be her hair. I can't even describe the way it smells. I'd so like to—._

**Would you like to have another look in the Mirror?**

_I'd better not. Would be too much in my current state of mind. It was definitely better that she left._

**Well, you were on the verge of calling her 'Miss Ravon' again, you know? She doesn't like that. Especially now. Especially from you.**

_As though I'd need being told that… Did I really? I didn't even notice._

**Of course you didn't. You were far too busy staring at her. A bit more intensely and you would have been undressing her with your eyes.**

_What's it to you? She didn't complain._

**Or were you just watching her squirm under your gaze?**

_She could have said something, couldn't she? _

**Well, she spoke to you… Ah, this is about the incident in the Potions classroom, isn't it?**

_She could have commented on it. She could have looked at me._

**And then noticed you stare at her.**

_Aren't you listening? I'm telling you, she knew it. She didn't complain. _

**That's because she didn't stare back. She never does.**

_Oh, but she knows. With this special ability of hers she must know how I feel about her. She could be so kind as to not let me completely in the dark._

**She's very reserved—at least when her temper doesn't get the better of her.**

_I'd love her temper to get the better of her. Especially now._

**Is that so?**

_Oh yes. I think if she'd slapped me or shouted at me down in the dungeons, I would have—._

**We would have startled her even more. Even that small touch was enough to make her rush away. She seems to do that quite a lot when we're alone with her.**

_So now it's 'we'? I don't remember you being of any help in that matter. Ever since, you weren't of help._

**It was only two days, for heaven's sake! Give me some time to get a grip on myself.**

_Time. Time waits for nobody. So why should I wait for you? I must come up with something more of a plan myself then._

**Well… Valentine's Day would be—.**

_I could ask her to go to the Ball with me…_

**Ha! That was a good one.**

_What's so funny?_

**I can imagine your expression when you ask her. I think you remember—.**

_Quiet. This is totally different._

**Is it now?**

_Yes._

**Doesn't matter. You wouldn't get the sentence over your lips anyway.**

_Enough. Change of subject. We're heading for a lesson. We're supposed to be favouring Slytherins again._

**And that when you'd rather _favour_ a very special Ex-Slytherin?**

_Stop it now. I must concentrate on—._

**On sucking up to Malfoy?**

_Well, you know the deal—although I'd recommend a bit more subtlety._

**Yes, keep on pretending.**

_Right._

**You're aware that _she_ isn't very fond of your _favourite_ student?**

_Tell me something I don't know. Gods, I hate it. This whole situation is wearing on my nerves. Playing the Death Eater, waiting for Voldemort's call. I hate it. And every passing day I hate_ _it more!_

So Severus's thoughts had drifted off towards unpleasant things again—although those were things far easier to handle than the more pleasant—but very much more difficult to handle—ones.

He slammed the door shut and rushed towards the teacher's desk. A dim light seeped in through the high windows. The sky was a sickly yellowish grey. It matched Severus's mood completely as he scanned the class. Twenty students. Half of them Slytherins. At least half of them destined to follow the lead of their parents. It made him angry and sad at the same time that he couldn't do anything about it. If he were to keep up the charade properly, there was nothing that he could do. On the contrary. It was a dead-end situation.

**~*~*~**

Snape didn't look particularly cheerful when he entered the Potions classroom—not that that was something new…

"Two students to a cauldron. If Miss Granger would be so kind as to assist Mr Longbottom?" Snape sneered. "I'd prefer it if this room were still usable after this lesson. That way there's at least a small chance that this will be possible." A nasty smile crept onto his face. "As an added bonus, this arrangement will prove quite helpful to prevent any distractions that could result from Mr Weasley and Miss Granger's being put together. What a pity to split the perfect couple, isn't it?"

Ron shot Snape a glare that greatly resembled the one Snape usually reserved for Harry. It was strange to see that expression on Ron's face. Hermione wordlessly walked to where Neville was sitting. Neville breathed a sigh of relief.

And Malfoy… Well, Malfoy was just being Malfoy. What a sad life he must have that he had to draw his joy from the misery of others… And as usual, Snape didn't even react to what Malfoy said or did.

Briskly, Snape turned and began to write the ingredients for an Asclepius Healing Potion on the blackboard. The list was endless, more than two dozens different ingredients. And there were only very small amounts of each one of them required. It would be hell to weigh and cut all this stuff accurately. This promised to be even worse than the Sleeping Potion they had brewed last lesson.

"And be careful with the bubotuber pus. Highly corrosive if undiluted—use your Dragonhide gloves. But it's a very good disinfectant if added to the potion. The added nightshade ensures that it doesn't cause too much pain when the potion's applied on the wound…"

"So he doesn't like the prospect of a Valentine Ball? Fine! But no reason to take it out on us," Ron complained softly.

"As if he needed a reason," Harry muttered.

"He's not even forced to take dancing lessons on account of a certain bushy-haired person…" Ron replied.

**~*~*~**

On 14th February, the dreaded Valentine's Day—although the Ball in itself was something she looked forward to—Sariss was sitting at the Head Table, her head propped up on her hand, a fork in the other hand, looking rather grumpy and feeling the same way although everyone around her still seemed to be in good spirits. That, however, didn't have the usual effect on her, since she had spent the distance from the Owlery to the Great Hall running—at fast pace—to escape from one of those little nasty singing Valentine delivery midgets. It had tackled her rather unceremoniously in the first floor corridor, then had sat in the hollows of her knees, thus preventing her from running away, and had sung its stupid, stupid, stupid poem (if one could call it that), while Sariss had propped her head up on her elbow and impatiently drummed on the floor with her fingernails, making small clicking noises. She could have thrown it off easily, no doubt about that, but she didn't want to hurt the little fellow, no matter how irritating he was…

The Owlery had been a good place to while away the hours before noon. She'd been hoping that the worst of Valentine's Day would have passed by then and only the pleasant aspects remained. No such luck. She should have stayed up there until evening, talking to Oberon, her pet raven. 

Well, Oberon wasn't really a pet. He was some sort of friend. He followed her. One day he'd been there, and hadn't flown away when Sariss had approached the bird. It had even settled on her shoulder. The next day, it had been there again. Sariss had given him a treat on one of the following days. Sometimes it hadn't come back for days or even weeks, but then it was there again and stayed for several days. Then Sariss had given him his name. From that day on, _it_ had become a _he_. Oberon. 

Actually, Sariss had merely wanted to send a letter to Mundungus Fletcher, her old comrade in arms, so to speak, when Oberon had swept in. She hadn't seen him for months. How to tell a bird that you were moving somewhere else and not coming back? But there he had been, curiously eyeing her and gently nibbling on her ear as soon as she'd offered him her arm. He'd found her, clever bird that he was.

She'd go up to the Owlery to visit him more often. Or she'd leave a window in her study open, so that he could come in whenever he wanted. He needed no attention from her. He was merely there, not begrudging her that she was sometimes too occupied with other things to talk to him. It was nice to see him perched on the windowsill when she looked up from her work or stroking his feathers and telling him goodnight before she went to bed.

Yes, it would be nice if Oberon looked after her from time to time. Her winged guardian. Maybe she'd even fly with him…

Those thoughts had been wandering through her mind when she'd made her way to the Great Hall. She'd been lost in her thoughts. She hadn't been attentive to little fast footsteps…

Thus, it was that despite all otherwise efforts the little nasty singing Valentine delivery midget had accomplished its embarrassing and very annoying task. It had hobbled away merrily, on the lookout for another poor victim already.

Some student around here must have considerably too much time on his hands. That much had become clear. Perhaps she should have given them more homework…

Should she feel flattered? She had no idea. Fact was that the display had been fairly embarrassing. Fortunately, she had been late, so no one had seen it. She only feared that more people had had the idea.

Did Dumbledore, too, receive singing Valentine deliveries? Or McGonagall? Flitwick? Sprout? Sinistra? Snape?

Of course not! They were considerably older than the students. As it was now, Sariss was the only teacher who could have passed as a seventh year. So she had to suffer the consequences… Perhaps she should have been scarier? Perhaps she should have glared more than smiled?

"You don't look very enthusiastic, my dear," Dumbledore observed.

"That might be because I am not," Sariss replied. "I had an encounter with one of those midgets, terrible. I wished the earth would open up and swallow me. How could you organize such a thing?"

Dumbledore grinned. "That was what I had been referring to as 'simply hilarious'."

"My, my, aren't we cheerful today…" Snape had sat down next to Sariss while she had been talking to Dumbledore. "Pray tell, why is a girl like you so extraordinarily cheerful on a day like this?"

Sariss decided she'd grace this quite sarcastic question with an answer. She excused herself from Dumbledore and turned towards the Potions master, saying, "I skipped breakfast because of this insanity and the little monster-midget still caught me. I'm perfectly sure the painting on the seventh floor gave me away. I'm _so_ going to kill that stupid little knight—and his pony, too. This Valentine horror is still as bad as it was when I was a student," she muttered.

"Well then what did the little monster sing?"

Sariss rolled her eyes. "You don't want to know."

"I do and if only to get myself a good laugh in the midst of all of this insane pink hearty-ness. I just had a really bad déjà-vu on entering this room…"

"You did?"

"Uh-huh." Snape didn't exactly sound very enthusiastic either.

"Tell me about it." _This could prove to be interesting…_

Snape groaned. "Does the name Lockhart ring a bell?"

"Of course it does," Sariss stated brightly. _This _will_ prove to be interesting._

"Don't tell me you're a fan of his."

"Nah. Surely not. I mean he _does_ have a nice smile and all—." Snape cringed visibly as she said that. "But other than that… Let me let you in on something, the man has not done anything of what he's written in his books—and luckily he still can't even remember that he's such an idiot because of this really lovely accident that happened a few years ago. I hear his wand somehow backfired?"

"Sort of… So you're not a fan of his? You're exactly the type for it."

Sariss crossed her arms. "What do you mean?" she asked suspiciously.

"Not unknown in the wizarding world yourself—he likes to grace himself with people who are… rather well-known. He likes to bathe in attention. But contrary to him, you really did what you say you did—."

"Sometimes I wish I hadn't," Sariss muttered, but Snape didn't react.

"—and he likes to be surrounded by er… well… pretty things—such as himself, although he is only pretty dumb—still."

The Potions master said all of this so dryly that Sariss snorted. "Pretty dumb, huh? Not very creative."

"Any better ideas? I'm all for some suggestions…"

**He called you 'pretty', dear.**

_Did he now?_

**You noticed it. Well hidden in an insult of Lockhart's vanity, but nonetheless…**

_So he thinks I'm pretty?_

**Yes…**

_He's just flattered me… I can't believe it._

**I think he's trying to flirt with you.**

_Ridiculous. If there's one thing Severus Snape wouldn't do, it is flirt—at least not in a way anyone would notice._

**Are you kidding? May I remind you of what happened in the Potions dungeon? That was flirting—and it was crowned by a kiss. And now this is well beyond your usual cool discussions about potions ingredients and Quidditch and those beating-about-the-bush-dialogues that you seem to have perfected.**

_Well, he might be flirting with me. So what? I'm not flirting back._

**You are.**

_Am not. Not in the slightest._

**You're being much wittier and more humorous than usual. Why might that be?**

_Maybe it's because he's the only one who isn't into this artificial happiness thing that is Valentine's Day? Snap your fingers and get ready to show that you love someone—when the rest of the year you treat them like dirt?_

**Why so pessimistic?**

_It's so staged. Most of this isn't real. I can sense it._

**Perhaps you should reply to your adorable Potions master's question now?**

_Adorable?! _

"Er…" Sariss began, faltering. "I know words that express what he is. But they don't seem to be appreciated when I say them. The friendliest expression would be show-off—or git—or raving egomaniac. And those aren't even the really bad ones…"

"I most certainly would appreciate every single one of the really bad ones…" he trailed off. "But then again, you'd probably tell me nothing new."

"Why, what did he do to you?"

"Among other things: He was extremely annoying and he stole the position I still am after." Snape managed something that looked almost like a sarcastic smile. Almost.

"Should I feel threatened?" Sariss asked, quite enjoying herself now, a smirk applying itself firmly to her face.

"Are you?" he replied in the same tone of voice.

"Not really. I could handle you every day, _single_-handed."

"You're quite full of yourself, aren't you?" That clearly wasn't meant as an insult; he sounded much too amused for that.

"No more than _you_ are full of yourself."

Sariss sipped a bit of pumpkin juice.

**Lovely, how the two of you manage to insult each other in such a teasing way… It's a bit unconventional, but if it isn't flirting, I don't know what it is.**

"So… Out with it, what did the midget sing?" he broke the sudden silence.

"It actually called me a broad." She rolled her eyes.

Snape raised his eyebrows. "It did—."

"A hot broad, to be exact—can't tell what could have given them the idea—among other things about which I do not want to go into detail. But someone in here has been copying dear old William and replaced certain terms with ones like the one I just mentioned—and don't you dare repeat it."

"I'd never."

"Good, I'd have to kill you if you did," Sariss said in a deadly serious voice.

"They could have called you worse. _I_ definitely could," Snape drawled.

"Sure you could. So could I."

"Like what, for example?"

"Ask the headmaster. I'm afraid I lost my temper and forgot about my manners when the conversation turned to you—once. And I'm so sorry about it. Not."

"You losing your temper? Now that's something that doesn't happen every day," he said quite sarcastically.

"I agree. With you around, it happens every five minutes."

_It was not a one-timer. You can have a real conversation with this man. Bickering, but nonetheless… It's quite funny…_

**And you're doing quite well, too, dear—**

_Thank you._

**—I wonder how you manage that when you think he's so—.**

_Don't push it. _

"That was a good one."

"Why thank you. I've been practicing for two months to get that line right," Sariss replied dryly, however with a small smirk.

"So…" he began. "Now that we have managed to establish a halfway decent conversation—once again—which is quite remarkable in itself—what are you going to wear tonight?"

"Why this sudden interest in my clothing?" Sariss couldn't stop herself from saying that—and in a tone like that! Another unbidden thought that had just slipped over her tongue. She felt her cheeks go hot. "I can't believe I said that…" she muttered, not looking at Snape's face.

She could almost sense the smirk that was aching to be allowed to crawl onto his face. "Just curious, that's all," he said, sounding more than a bit amused. 

**He hides his emotions very well, doesn't he?**

_I don't know what you're talking about._

**Come on, you do sense it. Don't deny it any longer. You know what you felt coming from him not a very long time ago. The last time you were really alone with him, at night, when it was dark outside, down in the dungeons, so close to him that--.**

_Have mercy on me._

**Don't you get it in your head, you coward? **

_I'm not a coward!_

**What would you call it then? You want to be… well… swept up and taken away on white horse—in your case: black horse—to your sweet prince's castle—in your case: fiercely desirable Potions master's dungeon. And you're too scared to make it easier for him!**

_So you finally found out what to do about this situation?_

**Not quite. By tonight, I hope to be able to provide a bit of advice. One just can't let a dance pass by without using the opportunity…**

_Oh dear… What if I make a fool out of myself tonight?_

**You won't. One thing I can tell you—and you know it quite well yourself. He likes you. Very.**

_He doesn't. _

**You're actually talking with him and neither one of you shouts at the other one… That alone would be enough to confirm any suspicions I might have—even without knowing about the 'incident' in the Potions—.**

_I get it. So if he likes me… It doesn't matter. Most of the time, he's obnoxious and sneering. I can't believe that he… that I actually—._

**I'm telling you, he's enjoying himself greatly in your little bickering contest.**

_It's not a contest._

**You keep telling yourself that… One thing: Implicate and insinuate. You're doing quite well so far.**

"At least give me a hint," he said when she hadn't answered after a few long moments.

"Why? Do you want to ask me to accompany you?" she drawled. 

**Yes! That's it! Fantastic, the way you said that, dear.**

_I'm getting the hang of this…_

"I wouldn't dare. You'd rip my head off if I did, wouldn't you?"

"I might… Then again, I might not. I already had my chances… But it wouldn't be of much use asking me anyway."

"And why is that?" Snape asked softly. 

**Did he actually sound a bit disappointed now?**

"Because you as well as I will be present either way," Sariss said as though it was the most obvious thing in the world—which it was.

"Then tell me about your costume already," he said, quite impatient by now.

"Tell me one good reason."

"You sure love being annoying, don't you?"

"Took you long enough to realize."

"Enough of all of this bickering. I usually quite enjoy it, but this is getting ridiculous. I asked you a very simple question and stupid as I seem to be I was actually expecting a very simple answer, which seems not possible when asking you something—."

"Elizabethan," Sariss said quickly.

"Excuse me? What did you say?"

"I am going to wear something Elizabethan. Happy now?"

"Very."

"Pity," she drawled, smirking at him. "I would have loved to make you miserable."

"It takes much more to make me miserable."

"Like what?"

"I'm not going to tell you. You're exactly the type of… _person _to do just that. If you'll excuse me?"

"Certainly," Sariss said. 

_Why this sudden hurry?_

"One thing that would make me really miserable," he said as he stood up, leaning down to whisper in her ear, "would be…"

"What?"

_Oh, please, don't come any closer…_

He straightened up again. "Nothing."

**Bingo. He does like you.**

_But I don't like him! I just can't seem to forget how he… how his… how…_

**Sure, you like him! I can still see you stuttering in Dumbledore's office—.**

_Don't remind me. I'm so glad that he seems to have forgotten._

**He _seems_ to. And you do like the er… what was it you called him? The obnoxious and sneering Potions master, wasn't it?**

_Yes._

**Yes, what?**

_Shut up. I've got to go now and get some work done before I get ready for the party._

**We.**

_What?_

**_We_**** get ready for the party. And _I_ will see to it that _you_ behave—**

_I always behave._

**—like a lady and be nice to the obnoxious, sneering Potions master you find so adorable—.**

_Which he is quite obviously not!_

**You keep telling yourself that. He's the complete opposite of that idiot Lockhart—you're lucky to only have him met once—.**

_Which was quite sufficient, too…_

**What I wanted to tell you… He's—I mean dark handsome Severus Snape—he's exactly your type, isn't he?**

_Oh, please._

**Why else would you be bickering so well?**

_You sound like Dumbledore._

**That was what I intended… And now go and make yourself beautiful—after getting some work done first, of course… You workaholic…**

_Humph._

"If you'll excuse me, Professors, I—."

"You've got to get ready for the party tonight, I understand," Dumbledore said, with a smile. "And I must thank you for helping with transfiguring all those costumes. The students seem to really like what you did with their clothes."

"I only made them look like they wanted to. Nothing else. I'll see you tonight, Professors." Sariss stood up and went on her way towards her chambers. However as soon as she had started to walk up the marble staircase a midget seemingly appeared out of nowhere, skittered to a halt at the foot of the stairs and started running after her, screaming at the top of its lungs for her to stop—which she did absolutely not. On the contrary.

Sariss had learnt her lesson and added a bit of speed as she dashed along the first floor corridor, around a corner—right into Snape. "Now that's something that doesn't happen every day," he smirked. "A beautiful woman throwing herself—."

"For once in your life do me a favour and save me, please. I can't take another one of those," she whispered, jerking her thumb in direction of the corridor where the midget must be appearing any moment now.

He raised his eyebrows for a second and then swept around the corner. A low thudding noise and a small screech indicated that the midget had apparently had an encounter with Severus Snape that was similar to Sariss's.

**~*~*~**

Something heavy bumped right into the Potions master when he walked along the first floor corridor. His brain took a while to process what had happened and whom it was he had collided with.

"Now that's something that doesn't happen every day," he said, surprised—and rather pleased, he had to admit—that of all people it had to be _her_. "A beautiful woman throwing herself—."

"For once in your life do me a favour and save me, please. I can't take another one of those," she panted, jerking her thumb in direction of the corridor.

_One of those?_

**Valentine delivery midget monster thing. You know the deal. Good you listened to me and didn't send her one yourself, isn't it?**

_She would have liked one of mine. I'd have quoted Shakespeare without any changes._

**No comment.**

Wordlessly, Snape rushed around the corner, and the midget, too, bumped into him. It was not quite as pleasant as the first collision…

"Watch where you're going, you little—," Severus said, quite enjoying the fact that this day had—despite all those pink hearts—turned out rather nicely. A little bickering contest with Sariss Ravon—any time. She was witty, when she wanted to. _Lovely…_

"Say, you don't happen to have seen—," the little fellow began.

"I haven't," the Potions master growled.

"You haven't even—."

"Exactly. I haven't," he said harshly, glowering down at the creature. "Now there's a little riddle for you. Put the following words in a sentence: Off. Hell. The. Sod. Got it?" 

It looked up at him, a puzzled expression on its ugly face.

"Sod the hell off!" In addition to that, Severus gave the midget a glare that could have made hell freeze over. 

It cringed and stumbled a few steps back, then made a 180-degrees-turn and dashed through the corridor as fast as the short legs would allow it—or maybe just slightly faster than possible.

Sariss Ravon was leaning against the wall, regaining the ability to breathe normally. 

"My hero. You saved my life…" she said and managed a little smile.

"Glad I could be of help," Severus smirked and bowed. "Milady." 

She smirked back. "Well, thank you very much, again, sir, but I must excuse myself now," she replied, matching his undertone perfectly. They could have been actors on a stage. "There's still some work to be done before getting ready for the festivities. I'll just have to try my luck and see if I can sneak into my office unnoticed—I just wonder where it might be at the moment…" She looked thoughtful and then slapped her forehead. "That I haven't thought of that already. Sometimes I'm really slow. I have no idea why the Sorting Hat recommended Ravenclaw for me—aside from the obvious, that is." 

"You being in Ravenclaw would have cost us several House Cups," he stated dryly. 

**You're doing well today. It's not so hard to be nice to her, after all, is it?**

_It would be much easier if I could find the right words…_

**Just do what you do best.**

_What? Be sarcastic and sneer a bit?_

**She didn't seem to mind earlier today.**

_Hmm. I wonder…_

"If you say so, Professor…" she smiled slightly, his compliment hitting home. "All right then, have a nice day, Professor Snape. Hope to see you tonight…" 

And she transformed into a large black bird. Severus started a bit, but them remembered that she was an Animagus. Was she a raven? He couldn't be sure because her wings were flapping too fast, but it was as good a guess as any.

"How appropriate…" he muttered as the bird-Sariss Ravon flew down the corridor out of sight.

_She said, 'Hope to see you'…_

**Don't read too much into—.**

_Now for my costume… I should ask Flitwick, he's better at those things… Elizabethan. That means tights. A man in tights._

Severus cringed slightly. 

_I never thought I'd do this just to get the attention of a very annoying—yet charming—woman. Severus Snape goes through this ordeal only to have her notice him. Oh my god. This is so weird. This is so not me. I really shouldn't do this. I really shouldn't. Somebody talk some sense into me, which I don't seem to possess anymore when it comes to her._

**Ah, well, a nice long cloak and then it should be alright. They're all going to look stupid. **

_At least I'm not the only one then. And Filius will surely know what to do about that. He had quite some students to take care of already. So I shouldn't be much of a problem… But under no circumstances will I wear something cerulean. No way—I should have asked about the colour of her Elizabethan costume… The smallest of my problems. Let's go see Flitwick. He'll laugh his head off first and then he'll hopefully find something suitable. Oh, am I dreading this evening…_

**Regard it as a game of chess.**

_What, make sacrifices?_

**Exactly.**

_That doesn't guarantee anything._

**…**

_Oh, now you've shut up, huh?_

**~*~*~**

"We'll catch up on you," Ginny said to Ron and Hermione. "So, what's up, Harry?"

"Something's different about you today, Gin," Harry said, applying a thoughtful look to his face. "Let me think. What could it be? And why might I have a little parcel for you? If only I could remember… Can you help me remember?"

Ginny sniggered. "Oh, I might just have the right incentive for your non-reliable brain." She gave him a kiss on the cheek.

"Not more?"

"After you've given up the pretence."

"Okay, there you are, Gin," he proffered the little parcel. "Happy seventeenth birthday and Happy Valentine."

"Thank you!" she exclaimed and this time kissed him full on the lips. "What is it?"

"You'll have to open it."

"But it looks so pretty. Where did you get it? How could I have missed you buying it in Hogsmeade?"

"I shamelessly sneaked off while you and Hermione were off doing whatever it is girls do when their boyfriends aren't there. Last weekend," Harry said. "What _are_ girls doing when their boyfriends aren't there, by the way?"

"Why, talking about their boyfriends' cute backsides, of course," Ginny grinned.

"You're kidding, aren't you?"

"I don't know, am I?"

She began to open the present, carefully undoing the knot and unwrapping the paper. Then she opened the box.

Harry was quite excited. She simply must like her present. After all, he had asked Ron's advice. He should know what kinds of things his sister liked, shouldn't he? And as Harry knew Ginny quite well himself by now, he too thought that it would look great on her.

"Wow! This is… I don't… Wow…" She lifted up the fine golden necklace. A small ruby was crafted into the star-shaped pendant. "And a bracelet to go with it! Oh, Harry, it must have cost a fortune. You shouldn't—."

"Let me. I thought they'd look great with that dress you described to me—and also without, for that matter." Harry blushed and winked. "What do you think?"

"Definitely. You're going to faint tonight, I can tell you. Professor Ravon worked a miracle, and she didn't even take long for it. Do you mind if I don't put the jewellery on just yet? I'd like to save it for tonight."

"I'm convinced you'll look fantastic."

"I almost feel sorry for making you wear t—leggings."

"What was that?"

"Nothing." She sniggered and blushed embarrassedly. "Let's go to breakfast and watch the others struggle to get a last minute date for the Ball."

"Okay… Oh, and you weren't just on the verge of saying 'tights', were you?" Harry asked as they scrambled through the portrait hole.

"Um… no?" Ginny tried to sound innocent and pouted. "And even if I did, what are you going to do about it?"

"I could stand you up."

"You wouldn't!"

"Who says that?"

"You cannot possibly be serious."

"But you said 'tights'."

"I caught myself in time, didn't I?"

"You caught yourself, although not in time."

"Does it matter what I call them? Your legs are going to look very sexy, I'm sure," she said. "Hey, there are Ron and Hermione. I wonder if the big bloke gave her a present as lovely as you gave me. Let's catch up on them."

"Ginny…" Harry ran after her. She was such a whirlwind sometimes.

"Just look at that. Millicent wants to date Malfoy. I almost feel sorry for him," Harry heard Ron say.

"And that when he so obviously fancies Pansy. She's at least not twice his size. If I were a boy and had to choose between those two…" Hermione answered. "I just wonder what's taking Ginny and Harry so long."

"Probably found a place where they could sn—Oh! Hi, little sister."

"Don't you even try to cover it up, Ronald," Ginny said. "I heard you. And I can very well finish that sentence without your help."

"I think I'm particularly hungry today… Hermione, save me from my sister's wrath, please?"

"I'm sure he only wanted to say 'A place where you could talk'," Hermione said. "Didn't you?"

"Um…"

"Of course, Ron. It's not that Ginny would act any different if she were you," Harry said with a grin.

"Traitor," Ginny wrinkled her nose at him. "Don't think that because of an expensive gift you can play the cool guy all of a sudden."

They had by then arrived at the Gryffindor table where a quite obviously fairly nervous Neville Longbottom sat down next to Parvati Patil.

"Um… Parvati? I'm… Well…"

"What is it, Neville?"

"This is for you. A Valentine present. There you are." A deeply crimson-faced Neville handed Parvati a white rose.

_It's about high time that he gathered the courage_, thought Harry.

"Thank you," she said, accepting his gift. "This is nice of you."

"I was just wondering… Do you already have a date for the Ball tonight?"

"Why didn't you ask me earlier?"

"Oh, well, never mind." It was hardly believable that Neville was so shy.

"Wait a minute, Neville. Did I explicitly say I already had a date?"

"No…" he said slowly.

"Then ask me already, stupid."

"Parvati, would you…" he trailed off, insecure.

"Yes? Go on," she prompted.

"Would you… accompany me to the Ball tonight?" he finally rushed it out.

"I'd love to, Neville, really."

He blinked, surprised, and then breathed an obvious sigh of relief that caught in his throat when Parvati kissed him on the cheek. Neville blushed even more deeply crimson, just like Parvati.

"Now I'm convinced," she said, "that I'm going to enjoy this evening."

"I can hardly wait. It's going to be great tonight," Hermione said.

"I could wait forever," Ron answered. "How ever did you get me to wear those… _things_?"

"Don't start with that again."

"Boys," Ginny muttered. "They just can't accept our hands when it comes down to putting certain clothes on."

"But we'd love to have them taken off again," Harry said suggestively and made Ginny blush.

"Oh you! Really," she rolled her eyes. "Oh! Hermione, you won't believe what Harry gave me for my birthday. It's so pretty."

"I know that Ron helped with it, so I'm not quite convinced that it's pretty, but if you say so," she joked.

"No comment on that," Ron said. "Girls. It's always the same. We're going through hell to find a nice present for them and they don't even acknowledge us for it."

Both girls tsked.

"What?"

"I think I'll go and study before we get dressed and all that," Hermione said. "Ginny? Would you like to come with me? You, at least, care about your marks."

"We care, too," Ron said.

"I'm coming with you, 'Mione," Ginny said. "See you tonight, Harry."

Harry could have sworn he heard her mutter, "and in tights," but he couldn't be quite sure.

"See you, love."

"So… Care for a game of chess, or two?" Ron asked. "I can't bring myself to study on a day like this."

"Okay. Let's study tomorrow instead. I'm still tired from last night anyway."

"Oh… Alright."

**Next chapter:**

Getting ready for the Ball, dancing—and snogging.


	15. Once Unkind

**Author's note: **Yay, reviews!!! I'm soooo happy! And all thanks to **Samson**, **Neo** and **Blaise**! Hugs and hair ruffles to all of you!

Chapter 14: Once Unkind****

**_That you were once unkind befriends me now,  
And for that sorrow which I then did feel  
Needs must I under my transgression bow,   
Unless my nerves were brass or hammer'd steel.   
For if you were by my unkindness shaken  
As I by yours, you've pass'd a hell of time,   
And I, a tyrant, have no leisure taken  
To weigh how once I suffered in your crime.   
O, that our night of woe might have remember'd  
My deepest sense, how hard true sorrow hits,   
And soon to you, as you to me, then tender'd  
The humble slave which wounded bosoms fits!_****   
_But that your trespass now becomes a fee;   
Mine ransoms yours, and yours must ransom me._******

_—William Shakespeare: Sonnet No. 120_

Sariss was sitting in her study, grading some essays before she intended to get ready. However, she seemingly couldn't concentrate. Her mind kept wandering back to her graduation ball—for, apparently, no apparent reason. 

**~*~**

_"I must have hit my head somewhere. You two look awesome!" Rick exclaimed exaggeratedly when Sariss and Aurora came up the narrow stone staircase that led to the Slytherin girls' dormitory._

_Aurora wore a dark green dress, whereas Sariss had chosen a black one and gloves. Gloves were important when she was supposed to dance with others, even though the word 'others' would most likely only include Rick and perhaps Professor Dumbledore._

_"Thanks, Rick," Aurora said. So did Sariss who added, "I'm not so sure if I'm comfortable, dressed up like that."_

_Rick ignored it. "I'd so like to accompany both of you. Can't we make a sandwich?" he joked._

_Sariss sniggered. "I'd like to see the dance that would work that way."_

_"I'm sure Rick would figure one out," Aurora said dryly._

_"You can bet on that."_

_"Hey, Rick, thanks for going to the Ball with me. No one else would have—."_

_"Ah, don't mention it. That's what friends are for—although I can't see why you didn't simply ask someone. How about Crane?"_

_"Taken by and with Claire Redfield."_

_"And that sixth year? Leon Whatever-his-last-name was? He threw a few… well… lingering glances at you."_

_"Everyone throws first glances at me, stops, flinches and then walks past," Sariss said. "Honestly! I hate that! What the hell is wrong with me?"_

_"Oh come on, nothing's wrong with you. Quite the opposite. Rory, support me there. What do you say?"_

_"I don't know. I'd kill for hair like yours, Sariss."_

_"Oh please, stop it."_

_"But it's true."_

_"All of that should prove quite obviously that looks aren't everything, shouldn't it? Take you, for example. You're pretty and popular. And what am I? Granted, today, I look quite all right, although you've forced way too much make-up into my face—."_

_"Only because you don't get any colour in those cheeks. You're so sun-sensitive that I'm almost inclined to believe Malfoy sometimes. Just kidding, of course," Aurora said._

_"But that doesn't change how the others react to me. Take your time and watch me as soon as we're up there. What do you want to bet that the only fellow student I'm going to dance with is Rick?"_

_"Is that a promise or a threat?" Rick asked, very much trying to cheer her up. "Hey, smile a bit. School's out. You're top in every subject—."_

_"Not every subject."_

_"Almost every subject then—and it _is_ a bit much make-up, Rory."_

_"Since when do you have any sense for girls' make-up?"_

_"I was just saying…"_

_Sariss sighed. Somehow she wanted nothing more than go to sleep._

_"You're feeling a bit lost, now that you've finished school, is that it?" Aurora asked, realizing that Sariss's mood was deteriorating more and more every second that was passing. "That's it, isn't it?"_

_"Partly. I don't know what's wrong with me. Everyone's so happy now. I should be too. I counted on that. But instead, it's so… I don't know."_

_"Come on, let's go. You'll feel better as soon as we're up there," Rick said. "Hey, Rory, wouldn't want to keep that Ravenclaw bloke waiting, would you?"_

_"His name is Julian Clearwater, and I've just detected jealousy coming from you," Aurora grinned. "He's jealous, isn't he? Huh, Sariss, tell me."_

_"Well, it's possible—."_

_"Jealous? Me? No way!" he said. "Sariss, we're leaving." He took her hand, placed his as of yet unoccupied arm around her waist and made such a show of a dramatic exit that he made Sariss laugh._

_"You did that on purpose."_

_"Of course. If I'm going up there with the two loveliest ladies available, I can't have one of them look like she were led to the gallows, right?"_

_"Right."_

_"So, is he jealous?" Aurora came after them. "You were alone with him. Is he jealous?"_

_Rick clamped Sariss's mouth shut._

_"Don't you dare. You're ruining her make-up! Took me hours!" Aurora exclaimed._

_"Oops, sorry. Good you didn't struggle or something," Rick apologized. _

_"Yes," Sariss said and tried a smile. Surprisingly, she succeeded._

_"What yes?"_

_"Jealous," she confirmed._

_"I'm not!"_

_"No use denying—There's Julian! See you later." And off she was. Her date almost immediately dragged her off onto the dance floor._

_"You didn't really have to tell her, you know?"_

_"Oh, come on. As if it would make a difference."_

_"What's that supposed to mean?"_

_"Nothing."_

_"Yeah, right… Just look at them dancing. If he drops his hands only an inch lower…"_

_"Hello. Haven't you forgotten someone?" Sariss asked. "Sariss, would you like to dance?" She gave an imitation of his voice. "Yes, Rick, I'd love to."_

_"Of course." He grinned. "If you can endure my feet trampling on yours…"_

_"Can't be worse than what Rory's going through just now."_

_"Do I really sound like that?"_

_"Almost."_

_And with that, they danced._

_As Sariss had already predicted, she was dancing only with Rick. No one cut in. But they were having a great time, although he from time to time glanced in Aurora's direction, particularly when she returned to her date Julian who was indeed torturing her feet._

_"Go to her. Save her. I can't bear to look at that for much longer," Sariss said._

_"But you—."_

_"I'll be okay. Thanks for putting up with me."_

_"I still don't understand why no one cut in, pretty and nice as you are. Just look at Laveau. The bitch isn't half as pretty as you and Rory put together and—."_

_"Rick. It's alright, really. I'm fine. You made my day, okay?" She kissed his cheek. "Now save Rory and admit that you're jealous. She wants to hear it from you."_

_"Oh dear. Really?"_

_"Uh-huh. She told me."_

_"Did she really?"_

_"A thousand times."_

_So he went off towards Aurora who looked fairly relieved when he cut in. They looked good together, Sariss thought, making her way off the dance floor. Now if they'd only admit it to each other. _

_A slower tune was coming up now. Perfect._

_Sariss sat down on a bench against the wall._

_"Miss Ravon, are you already tired?"_

_"No, Professor Flitwick. Rick is on a rescuing mission. He's rescuing Rory's poor feet… Hello, Professor Dumbledore."_

_"Sariss, my dear, shouldn't you be dancing? My, how pretty you look in that dress. A good choice I must say."_

_"Thank you, sir." She blushed beneath her various layers of make-up._

_"Say, would you grant an old man a dance?"_

_"Of course," Sariss said. "Excuse me, Professor Flitwick."_

_"Yes, yes." He waved dismissively._

_Dumbledore led Sariss back onto the dance floor._

_"Oh, thank you, I almost feared Professor Flitwick wanted to ask me for a dance. That would have looked quite awkward."_

_Dumbledore chuckled. "Filius doesn't care about that. I bet he finds the thought of anyone taller than himself having to bend down to him at an impossible angle hilarious… So you're wearing gloves. I can't deny that I appreciate that. Do they warm your hands at least?"_

_"No, but they kept Rick's from freezing and yours too, I hope."_

_"Thoughtful of you."_

_"Yeah, considering that there aren't so many people who come so close to me, I'd think it… well… not so good if they were freezing. It might keep them from coming back."_

_"I see… So what are you going to do now that school's over? With marks like yours you could very well enter Ministry services…"_

_Now that was a topic she was comfortable with. "I've already been thinking about that, too. I'd like to." _

_"Well, you'll surely receive a letter quite soon," Dumbledore said. "What did you have in mind? Auror, Obliviator—?" _

_"Auror," Sariss replied. "Rick and Rory have been considering that for a while, too." _

_"I see. I think it would suit you, all of you… Your talents could prove quite useful there. Even though Voldemort seems to be gone, there are still plenty of Dark wizards out there who only wait for someone to gather them again." _

_"I know."_

_"I thought so… But that's not the only reason, is it?" Did ever anything escape this man's mind?_

_"You see, it's because… Er… If I release my powers in combat, they might not cause so much trouble. If I deliberately release a bit of them, they surely won't cause so much trouble accidentally, don't you think?" she stuttered._

_"I understand very well."_

_"And before you say something against it," Sariss added quickly, "I know that it's dangerous and dirty work. I don't mind. I'm not afraid. I do not fear Dark wizards and if they choose to get themselves killed, who am I to object? Each time there'll be one less to worry about."_

_"Ruthless, huh?" He looked at her over the rim of his spectacles._

_"When it comes to the Dark side, yes."_

_"Still out for revenge?"_

_"I'll always be. Till the day there's nothing left of Voldemort's reign of terror."_

_"You're very determined, aren't you? A real Slytherin."_

_"I do not intend to become a Dark witch, Professor Dumbledore, if that's what you're implying."_

_"I sure do hope so, my dear. We'd stand no chance against you if you were to change sides."_

_"I'm not sure if that's a compliment or an insult."_

_"Neither am I. It was just a statement."_

_"A statement. I think I can take it for a statement then."_

_"May your choice be the right one. Either way you'll fulfil your destiny."_

_"I never was a great believer in Divination, sir, but I have to admit there's more to it than meets the eye. It just seems that I do not have the slightest bit of talent for it. Lacking the Inner Eye completely, as Professor Trelawney liked to point out incessantly and at great lengths."_

_"Well, you did well in Arithmancy and Muggle Studies instead. Excellent basis for working with the Ministry. You might be around Muggles quite often should there be an attack, although at the moment it is awfully quiet out there. Too quiet. Call it a sense of foreboding but I'm not the only one who thinks that Voldemort is only waiting for someone to strengthen him again…"_

_"Then it is decided. I shall be an Auror."_

_"I'm very proud of you, little one, you know that, don't you?"_

_"Thank you, sir."_

_Dumbledore walked her towards a huge bowl with a swirling liquid in it. Snape, the Potions master, was sipping some of it out of a glass that greatly resembled a crooked champagne flute, his usual sneer firmly in place, but neither the Slytherin girl nor Dumbledore were truly affected by it._

_"Severus," Dumbledore said. "Why don't you take Sariss off my hands for a moment? Those old bones need some rest whereas her young ones surely demand some more exertion."_

_"I don't think Miss—."_

_"This is really not necessary, Professor Dumbledore," Sariss said at Snape's obvious discomfort. "I'm alright on my own, really."_

_"You don't mind, my dear, do you?" Dumbledore said. Sariss felt inclined to shake her head no. She wouldn't have wanted to appear impolite. Snape was after all her Head of House. And leaning closer, Dumbledore added in a fairly audible whisper, "Despite of what he might say now, he knows how to dance. Really. I'm an eye-witness of his considerable skill."_

_A scandalized look must have crept onto Sariss's features. She could feel it settle in place, along with a slight blush of embarrassment or something like that. Dumbledore had never spoken like that before._

_It was almost a relief that Professor Snape too had been caught quite off-guard by the headmaster's whisper, as Sariss could see quite openly as she chanced a quick look at him. The sneer had distinctly wavered and been almost instantly replaced by a half-hearted glare._

_"Don't give me that look, Severus. There's not a single law that would forbid you to enjoy yourself." He actually took the glass out of Snape's now surprisingly limp grasp and set it onto the table._

_"Headmaster…"_

_Somehow, to Sariss, they seemed like father and son._

_"There. A new song has started already. Go and dance." He extricated his hand from Sariss's and placed her gloved hand into the Potions master's, smiled with twinkling eyes and scurried away._

_Sariss felt awkward. She didn't dare move for reasons that were beyond her. She didn't know what to do; she couldn't think of anything. Snape's hand was warm. The warmth seeped through the material of her glove. He was warm like anyone else. Like Rick. Like Dumbledore._

_"Miss Ravon?"_

_"Yes, Professor?" she stuttered insecurely, squirming under his gaze._

_"We are being watched already," Snape said. "So we'd better get a move on."_

_The limp grasp he had on her hand became tighter and he gently pulled her after him. Then he placed her other hand on his shoulder and rested his other hand on her waist._

_And they danced—fortunately not too close…_

**~*~**

She smiled at the memory. She'd had received pitiful glances from the other students, but it hadn't been so bad actually. He had been quite a good dancer—Dumbledore hadn't exaggerated—surprisingly good actually. A voice in the back of her mind perked up, **And as far as I can tell, he still is… **

_Don't even start—or, perhaps, do start… Please…_

**~*~*~**

"What's taking them so long?" Ron asked while pacing up and down the common room in his transfigured costume, which, according to Ron himself, were above all tights and a much too brightly coloured jacket and medieval boxer shorts.

"I don't know. It's always the same with those girls, isn't it?" Neville said.

"How would you know? You only asked Parvati a couple of hours ago. No time to match your costumes," Ron answered.

"Especially when you've chosen the present time, right, Neville?" Harry said with a wink.

"Well…" Neville began. "It was a last minute date and thus a last minute costume. Parvati and I'll probably be the only ones not wearing something completely out of date."

"This, dear Neville, is a medieval costume. It's historical, not out of date," Ron said with as much dignity as his disguise would allow—although Harry had to admit that neither Ron nor himself—at least he hoped so…—looked as ridiculous as he had feared at first. Fact was that many Gryffindor boys had been bullied into wearing similar clothing by their girlfriends. More than once during the last days, Harry had heard something along the lines, "This girl's boyfriend does it, so why can't you too?"

"They could really hurry up a bit. Ginny doesn't need any additional make-up or something. So what's taking them so long?"

"Probably want to torture us a bit; or they want us to grow accustomed to our clothes so we wear them daily?" Ron joked, although the look of terror on his face could have been faked or not.

Neville slumped into an armchair and propped his head on his elbow. "Anyone care for a game of Exploding Snap?"

"I think I'll need my eyebrows tonight, Neville, thanks but no," Harry declined the offer. He was not that desperate yet. Anyway, the girls were supposed to come down any minute now. Otherwise, they'd be late and that was something neither Ginny nor Hermione nor Parvati wanted. As Harry understood it, Hermione had agreed to do something to Ginny's hair. Harry had overheard them. Hermione had said something about 'taming her rebellious curls.'

Harry liked those rebellious curls. They were like fire and unutterably soft. It was a pity that she always twirled them around her wand and fastened them with it. More than once, her wand had spluttered a few sparks and singed her hair. Now that he thought of it, he should have given her something to fasten her hair with for her birthday present…

"What are they doing up there? Brewing a potion to make them… I don't know what?" Ron exclaimed. "Hermione looks just fine to me."

"She's doing something to Ginny's hair. I don't even want to imagine," Harry said. "Perhaps Parvati's having a hand in it, too?"

Just then, they heard soft giggles and clicking footsteps.

"Finally!" Ron shouted. "What took you so—?" His jaw virtually hit the floor. "I don't believe it. Is that really you, 'Mione? You look awesome!"

Neville had jumped to his feet and only stared, speechless.

Harry, too, stared dumbstruck, although his attention was far more caught by Ginny. "Wow…"

"Thank you," Ginny said as she ambled towards him, her burgundy-coloured skirts rustling. She wore the necklace and bracelet Harry had given her. They matched her dress as well as her hair perfectly. Hermione had arranged it into careful curls. Shiny and fiery red, they were a nice variation to the way Ginny usually wore it. But somehow, they concealed the fact that Ginny could be such a whirlwind sometimes. Anyway, she was beautiful.

Harry suddenly didn't feel awkward in the slightest anymore. _Let them point. Let them talk. Let Malfoy taunt me because of the tights (no matter that the girls insist on calling them 'leggings'). He has no Ginny by his side. And they're quite comfy, now that I think about it…_

"Can we go?" Hermione asked and then added with a broad smile. "Has everybody gathered up their jaws again?"

A chorus of, "Alright," "Let's go," and the like answered her.

"After you, your highness," Harry said and motioned for Ginny to scramble through the portrait hole before him.

"Thank you, Sir Harry," Ginny answered. "But I think I need your help to get my skirts through the hole. Help me?"

Harry chuckled. "A dress, which a lot of material has been wasted on, right?"

"I guess I brought it onto myself," Ginny said. "I should have been a tad more modest perhaps."

"Well, I find the fact that only a fraction of all that material is above your waist…" Harry began, "well… nice."

As a matter of fact, her arms and shoulders were bare; the dress only held in place by two delicate straps. Ginny's skin was very light, almost no freckles on those parts of her skin. Her mother always made such a fuss about that during the summer holidays when freckles erupted all over her nose like mushrooms. One could almost watch as more and more of them appeared. Ginny herself thus regarded herself as a cursed redhead. Too sun-sensitive and light-skinned, catching sunburns all too easily. But Harry loved every single one of her freckles.

"This dress reveals nothing that you haven't seen already."

"You're quite right about that, my Queen. There," he helped her gather up her skirts and gently guided her through the portrait hole. 

"Thank you."

As they made their way in direction of the Great Hall, chattering about this and that, Harry idly wondered how long the transfiguration would last on their clothes. Ginny might like to keep the dress as long as possible.

Ron moaned quite audibly that he'd have to do those 'awkward dances' they'd learnt in their dancing lessons. Ron as well as Harry himself had been dragged there along with roundabout every other student with a girlfriend. Other than that, there had been nothing special about them. They'd learnt their steps and when and how to change partners if the dance required it. It hadn't even been that funny; it had been hard work. The result was that even that small crash course had led to rather splendid results, as even Harry had to admit. He was quite relieved that he knew how to dance now, still shuddering at the thought of the Yule Ball in his fourth year at Hogwarts. That was something that needn't be repeated—especially when he was with Ginny, and when she was even prettier than usual although that seemed almost impossible. She looked so regal tonight as she walked beside him, her arm linked with his.

Harry was determined to make that evening unforgettable—especially when he thought about the fact that the N.E.W.Ts were approaching faster and faster and soon he'd have only little time to spend with his very personal red-haired whirlwind.

**~*~*~**

On entering the exquisitely decked-out Great Hall, Severus's distinct feeling of awkwardness slowly began to dissolve. The music was playing already. As far as Severus could tell, there'd be all thinkable styles of music for them to dance to. At the moment, the orchestra were playing something that struck him as medieval. And it looked like it, too. Some clothes were stunning. There was no other word for it. Unthinkable that in fact they were who knew what under more normal, magicless, circumstances. 

There were some of his Slytherin students gathered next to the buffet, holding goblets of pumpkin juice and from time to time grabbing a piece of pie, cookies or something like that from the table.

Farther away, Severus could distinctly make out the fiery red hair that belonged to the Weasleys. No one could have missed them, not even if you wanted to. If it weren't for that, they would have gotten attention anyway, as the girl was whirled over the dance floor by Harry Potter—his hair a mess just like his father's had been. He, too, wore tights, although the rest of the costume seemed to be of another period of history. Indeed, there was a considerable amount of students who suffered the same or at least similar disguise that Severus did. Most likely for the same reasons that he did. 

With a certain amount of relish, however, he couldn't help notice that some of the students had fared much worse. The nineteen-sixties or seventies were quite unbecoming a style in most cases—or so Severus thought. The colours clashed horribly. Maybe they thought it funny. He almost hoped they did. Otherwise, he'd almost feel sorry for them. 

Almost.

And he discovered, faintly surprised about that, that he felt quite comfortable and relaxed all of a sudden, something he'd thought he would under no circumstances. That could only prove an advantage if he could hold on to that feeling as soon as he saw her… Where was she?

**She's not yet here. You're early.**

_Roundabout everyone else is here—and dancing and eating and drinking already. She's late._

**You'll have to wait. Patience.**

_Tonight, I possess no such thing as patience._

**Patience will be rewarded, don't you know that?**

_Yeah, right._

Severus sat down and tried to not look as if he had been stood up by his non-existent date. The doorway was in clear view from where he was sitting. He'd see her as soon as she'd come down the staircase.

He waited. The few minutes seemed to stretch beyond infinity. But finally, he saw her. Slowly and gracefully, she crossed the Entrance Hall and entered the room.

She wore a dress of dark green silk and velvet with silver ornaments. The nearer she came, the more distinctly Severus perceived that those ornaments were stylised roses, very intricately made, the thin silvery threads sparkling slightly in the flickering light of the candles.

She looked especially striking that night, and very Elizabethan with those long sleeves and the tight bodice that accentuated her figure very nicely.

Her shoulders were bare, revealing a pair of gently curved collarbones and a large patch of her milk-white skin. A few long curly strands of her hair fell down over it, making a lovely contrast to the pallor of her skin and the dark red of her lips as they framed her face. The considerable rest of her hair was piled on top of her head. How he'd love to dig his fingers into it and make more of it crawl its way over this bare skin of her décolletage. How he'd love to trace those collarbones first with his fingertips and then with his lips…

He really had to stop his thoughts from constantly heading into that direction. It was doing him no good.

_Lovely. Very._

**I agree. She's beautiful.**

_Ravishing._

**Definitely.**

_A vision._

**Are you going to stare at her all evening?**

_Yes._

**Might be better. She'd realize that something's wrong with you if you kept talking in sentences consisting only of single words.**

_Shut up._

**Two words! And both have more than a single letter! What an achievement!**

_Shut. The. Hell. Up._

**Trying to think of something to say to her, aren't you?**

_Yes. And I can't, with you rabbitting on and on._

**Okay, okay. I can take a hint…**

_She's coming towards us. What am I supposed to do?_

**Say what you just told me.**

_What, shut up?_

**No, stupid. Tell her you like the way she looks.**

He stood up when he was fairly sure that he was indeed her destination. As she walked towards him, a smile tugged at her lips as he gave her a questioning glance. 

"I challenge you," she said.

"Challenge me to do what?"

"To do what the occasion calls for—and as it happens to be, I've come to the conclusion that I did not really owe you a dance on Hallowe'en. So I want it back," she stated in a manner that was very much appropriate, considering her costume.

"Who am I to object?" he said, taking her hand and leading her to the dance floor. The orchestra just finished a waltz.

**~*~*~**

"Play a Volta!" Dumbledore shouted as if on cue—but that was impossible, was it?—and Sariss jumped lightly.

Yes, the dance fit the time she had chosen for her costume—although during said time the dance had had a somewhat scandalous air to it—and yes, she would like to see how Snape would react to her being so close for more than just a few seconds. But did it have to be that?

They'd be dancing far too close at times. Most likely, she'd even feel his breath on her skin. But on the other hand… Perhaps that wasn't so bad…

Considering the fact that she knew perfectly well what he felt, it was completely irrational to act the way she normally did, wasn't it? There was no reason to be afraid of being rejected, was there? She had thought that she had sensed that he… well… that he… was somehow… in a way… interested—or had she interpreted his emotions wrong? If he hadn't kissed her in the dungeons that would be quite a problem… But the way it was…

_I wonder how far I can go—before I lose my nerve…_

**That's the spirit.**

"Must have been a real effort of will for you to actually dress like that. In tights, that is," she began.

Step. Step.

"I always thought they were actually considered leggings."

Turn. Clap.

"That's what girls say to make their boyfriends wear them. A small inconvenience considering that the girls in return get to wear really lovely dresses, don't you think?"

_My, he looks good tonight…_

**Nice legs…**

Step. Turn. Clap…

"I take it you transfigured most of the dresses in here?"

"Only the ones who took a bit more of magic. The really fancy historical stuff. It's so much easier to do when you don't have to wave a wand and mutter dozens of incantations and it lasts longer, too—or at least I hope so."

Step…

"Yours is very fancy, too. Incredible even, at a closer look. What is it in reality, your transfigured Hallowe'en costume?"

**That must be his way of telling you that he finds you really lovely and that you wear a—.**

_I know that. I'm neither deaf nor dumb. Thank you._

"It's not transfigured. I got it from Gladrags Paris by owl order. Amazing what can be done even though Voldemort's on the loose…"

Step and clap…

"I guess he doesn't care for fancy dresses. It wouldn't suit him either. And as far as I can tell, he'd be most unlikely to wear it—."

Sariss smiled.

Turn and clap…

_He's witty._

**In a morbid and sinister way… Well, if you like that…**

_I do. Very. Jokes about Voldemort are exactly the ones I need. Kind of makes it easier to—_

**Stop! No evil thoughts when you're supposed to be enjoying yourself and see how far you can—.**

_I know, I know…_

"—especially when you look so very beautiful wearing it, which doesn't mean that you wouldn't if you didn't wear it… erm… wore something… else instead of…" he faltered as he put his hands on her waist.

**That was a not very subtle compliment. **

_But a really lovely one…_

**And what a slip of the tongue! But he could have finished the sentence properly at least.**

_I think I know the reason why he didn't._

**Which would be?**

_He just lifted me up._

**Why is that?**

_Are you dumb? We're dancing a Volta, of all things. He was _supposed_ to lift me up._

**Who had that idea with the Volta?**

_I guess I asked for it with my choice of costume and…_

**You could finish your thoughts at least.**

_Can't think when that man is so close…_

**Then go for it, babe!**

_Don't call me that!_

**Back already?**

_He set me down again. Thankfully._

**Didn't you like it?**

_Very… Here it comes again…_

**I take it a real conversation with you won't be possible in the near future?**

_Uh-huh…_

It felt a bit awkward to be so close to Snape, but now that she was voluntarily it was rather nice. He lifted her up once more. The warmth of his body and his hands, seeping through the silken material of her bodice felt like little shocks. 

Tingling sensations raced all over her skin. It felt… heavenly, she had to admit after the first shock about the fact that it was _Severus Snape_ who made this happen had passed. And he had been quite affable during the last weeks… 

Stepping and turning and being lifted up for a few more minutes she was. And then he actually bowed in perfect manner and blew a kiss onto the back of her hand, just like he had attempted at the Hallowe'en dance…

**Hello! That had been his way of telling you that he accepted your apology and that he's sorry, too! Stupid thing! And what did you do?**

_I know what I did!_

**And now you wish you hadn't.**

_I didn't even like him back then…_

**Surely not. Perhaps unconsciously?**

_I like him now. That's all that counts. And you may have realized that I'm not pulling my hand back…_

**Only _like_? I'm disappointed. Don't you rather—.**

_Shut it. You know it. I know it. We don't have to discuss any of it._

**I knew it.**

_Enough. I'm talking to him—or rather not talking but enjoying him kissing my hand… I almost wish you'd feel this, too…_

**Sigh… Me, too. Me, too—especially when considering where those little gestures tend to end…**

Sariss's hand trembled considerably when the Potions master had finished with it.

"Do I win?" he asked. Was it just her imagination or had his voice just now developed an air that could be very well interpreted as husky as well as seductive?

Sariss's mind hadn't yet overcome the all-too-familiar sense of confusion and something else that she couldn't quite put into words. "I beg your pardon? I don't understand…"

"The challenge. Do I win?"

"The challenge. How stupid I seem to be sometimes—don't say a word," she added quickly. "It was not really a challenge. I just wanted to quote you there. The occasion just ached for me to say 'I challenge you' rather than 'Would you like to dance'?"

"Yes."

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, I would like to dance," he said. "And as it happens to be there's a really nice piece of music playing—at least I like it."

"You like that kind of music?"

"What's wrong with it?"

"You just didn't strike me as the type to listen to… slow songs if they aren't classic dance music, that is…"

"I will be delighted to show you what else I am that I do not strike you as the type to be." He looked indeed a bit startled that he'd said it the way he had.

Sariss suppressed a satisfied grin—although the control she'd had over this situation was slowly but certainly slipping out of her once firm grasp and thus began to make her feel as though she'd rather not be there for much longer. Why was it that she always had the urge to run when she was alone with him? And although they were in a crowd of people, it seemed to her that they might as well be alone in the castle. 

**That sounded rather suggestive, didn't it?**

_This is starting to scare me a bit. I wanted to see how far I could go and now it's the other way around. I wanted to see how far I had to go to make him back out, run away from me and reassure me that being alone is the wiser option—which it is, if you think about it…_

**It's not. Why would you—pardon me—long for—?**

_Shut up. I know what you're going to say. But the point is, I've manoeuvred myself into a situation I don't know how to get out of again. I don't think I'll have the strength to do anything—._

**Just act normal, perfectly natural, and normal.**

_Natural? When he's touching me and making me feel so weird by doing so?_

**Just try to enjoy it. It feels nice, doesn't it?**

_Very… But that's not the point here._

**No. The point is that now that you could move in for the kill, so to speak, it might be he who does so.**

_You think so?_

**Yes.**

_What do you suggest I should do?_

**Play along as long as you can. This situation is the complete opposite of what you intended it to be now. Make the best of it. Let him do the work from now on. **

_And what am I supposed to do while he's 'at work'?_

**Nice choice of words… You make a bit of small talk.**

_Small talk._

**Yes. Tell him his legs are nice—.**

_I won't! Although at a closer look…He does indeed have nice legs…_

**There. And you could say it with a certain tinge in your voice that you don't mean it quite the way you said it…**

_But I do—I mean if I said it, I would mean it…_

**Enough advice. Regard yourself as on your own now. I'll just watch…**

_Great, so now you leave me… What do I do? Well, I guess there's no other way than to play the game till the end. Either way I'm going to lose._

**But you want to lose in a very specific way, don't you?**

_Was that an implication?_

**Not at all. I only wanted to say that somewhere in that little head of yours you want him to win—although if you're playing a game with no winners, which it might just be, or a game without losers, I can't tell yet… Just be your horrible self. If you want him to run, then you'd better be yourself.**

_Oh and what am I?_

**Obnoxious, annoying, stubborn, maddening… You want more?**

_Please._

**In essence: A pain in the--.**

_I understand perfectly well._

**And?**

_That, apparently, doesn't stop him._

**Why's that?**

_Because he's all those things himself._

**Oh, but he's so adorable, isn't he? So cold and warm at the same time, and so mysterious and dark… Incredibly arousing, isn't it? Tell me something. How does it feel, your hand in his, his skin against yours?**

_It makes me shiver fiercely._

**Really?**

_All over. Oh gods, I want him to never let go of me again. This moment is eternity._

**Of course, you'd never admit this to him…**

And the moment lasted for hours, hours that passed much too quickly…

**~*~*~**

It was far past midnight when Dumbledore declared the festivities ended and prompted the guests to go to sleep. The younger students had left quite some time ago already.

Severus Snape didn't want this night to end. Everything had been so perfect. She had been so perfect. Her little hand in his felt and looked so right, as if it belonged there. It was so soft and looked like the hand of a wax doll. Her fingernails were long and polished in a very faint slightly pinkish colour. The delicate silver rings she wore sparkled all the time, so did the moon-pendant necklace. And the way her earrings brushed the side of her throat at every movement of hers, glittering as if they wanted to invite Severus to take their place… 

She'd spent the whole evening with him, sometimes making a bit of small talk, then not speaking at all for a long period of time. She'd been lovelier and more radiant than ever before. Severus was drunk on the sight of her, on her strawberry-vanilla scent, on the feel of her…

But now the ball was over…

Severus gathered his courage (somehow he seemed to be such a coward in everything that concerned her) and asked Miss—_Professor_, he chided himself… _Professor_ Ravon if she would mind it if he walked her to her chambers, just to prolong the evening a bit. He hadn't thought that she'd agree. Thus it surprised him quite a bit when she said, although shyly, "Yes, why not?"

Silently they walked up the marble staircase and headed in direction of her rooms. At night they seemed to be rather on the third floor than the second, Severus recalled. How did she manage to live here when the location of her chambers changed constantly? Severus was suddenly very glad that his rooms and the dungeons were one of the few locations in Hogwarts that stayed firmly where they were…

"Thank you very much, Professor Snape. It has indeed been a nice evening."

They had reached her chambers. All too soon, Severus thought suddenly; he didn't want this evening to end. It had been… nice. Very nice. Too nice.

"Would you please stop calling me 'Professor Snape'? It's started to annoy me recently—even if only slightly." He tried to sound exaggerated, but found that, when it came out, it sounded somewhat awkward, perhaps even a bit shy.

"And what should I call you then, Professor Snape?"

"The staff have taken to calling me Severus—at least under normal circumstances."

"I see. And why is it that I should call you Severus, Professor Snape?" she said, pronouncing his first name very clearly, but clearly laying emphasis on his title and last name. 

_Damn it, she's enjoying this,_ he thought. _She's enjoying giving me a taste of my own medicine—apparently Potions wasn't the only subject I taught her…_

**And I know quite a few things you'd also like to teach her…**

Dismissing that thought quickly, he finally settled for, "I can't think of any reason why you shouldn't. It's my name. The other teachers call me Severus. You're a teacher. Ergo: You do it, too. Quod erat demonstrandum."

"And that's all there is?" she drawled lazily. _Oh yes, she is enjoying this greatly._ Even though she wasn't your _typical_ Slytherin, she knew perfectly well how to be one, to act like one. Which she did, at great lengths, whether you wanted her to or not… 

At the moment, he would have preferred a bit more of straightforwardness.

"What else should there be?" He could play this game, too; answer a question with a question; hide a question in an apparent answer.

"I'll think about it," she said, ignoring his last statement. "Good night, Professor Snape."

He was perplexed. _She's so… I don't know…_ Had she already been like this when she had been attending Hogwarts as a student? Definitely not. She had even been somewhat shy sometimes. Most of the time, she still was shy… And she hadn't been like this when they'd had that unpleasant row about the Kappas either… She'd never been like this before.

He'd obviously hesitated for too long, as she'd started to turn away from him. Her hand was already reaching towards the door handle. In a few moments, she'd be gone…

**~*~*~**

"Sariss," he said. She froze. He'd never called her "Sariss" before. "Miss Ravon," oh yes. "Professor Ravon," yes. He'd even said "Sariss Ravon…" But never had he uttered her first name isolatedly… Just the one word; nothing else to accompany it. The way he pronounced it, the last syllable sounding almost like a hiss; a caress. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath until the shivers that had started to run up and down her spine subsided.

"Look at me," he said then, in a very low voice, soft, like velvet. _If velvet had a voice it would sound like his_, she thought, but immediately slapped herself mentally for even thinking something like that (again) about her former professor; her former teacher—a man who had already been teaching when she'd hadn't even been five feet tall! She was starting to feel uncomfortable—no, wrong choice of words—nervous was a much more appropriate description of her current state. She had gone too far tonight; she had realized this as soon as they had left the Great Hall, as soon as there were no longer other people in close proximity—or even before that. The feeling had crept upon her stealthily. If she stayed near him for a minute longer, she felt she'd lose herself in his emotions…

She swallowed. Then she turned to look at him, if only for a second or even less, before directing her eyes somewhere else—anywhere else—but his eyes, his face. Those few moments, however, were enough to confirm that… she had no idea what. He was gazing at her steadily; the line between his eyes had smoothed out. He wasn't scowling; he wasn't sneering… In fact, none of the emotions one saw usually cross Severus Snape's face was there—as if she'd actually looked him in the face more than a few times in all those months. 

He was just gazing at her intently. She had no idea where that thought came from but suddenly it was there: _I don't even have to raise my head very much to look into his eyes. I'm only a few inches smaller than he is… _

Strange that her brain hadn't registered that earlier.

Once more, she remembered when she'd danced with him at her graduation ball. He hadn't been too keen on dancing at first, but Dumbledore had almost forced him to—as he had forced her to do so, well, not really forced, but made. Yes, Dumbledore had made them dance with each other. It had been an awkward situation. For six years she'd been equally scared of as fascinated by the Potions master; then it had only taken him to give Malfoy and his cronies detention—a definitely unpleasant one—and a concerned "Are you alright?" and the fear had been gone. And hardly six months later, she'd danced with the man who had always kept his distance from everyone. And he had been a good dancer, too; he still was. She almost smiled at that thought.

"Sariss," he said again. The now familiar shiver again. 

_I've got to get out of here… Who knows how this ends?_

**There's just a tiny little problem there, dear. You don't _want_ to get out of this situation—or do you?**

_Not really… Oh gods, I don't know what I want._

He took a step towards her. Now he was standing hardly three feet away from her. She could already feel the heat emanating from his body. Sariss kept her head bent and closed her eyes, despite everything revelling in the sensations of warmth this made wash over her.

"Say my name." His voice was barely above a whisper; she couldn't think of anything clever to say as she'd done earlier. No snide remark, nothing. She couldn't think at all. Her mind was completely blank all of a sudden.

He stepped even closer. She could almost feel his breath on her forehead.

_'My name is Severus.'_

She swallowed and finally raised her head and her eyes, too, to meet his gaze, a searching, questioning expression on her face. Yes, she was definitely quite nervous now—just like him. She felt it now. 

However, she had no time to ponder about what the look in his eyes, the multitude of emotions that had suddenly started to emanate from him—he had obviously let down his defences, so clearly could she sense them now; it was overwhelming—meant, since he'd already cupped her face in his so very soft hands… the hands of a Potions Master… and lowered his lips to hers.

_I'm dreaming again…_

He brushed his lips over hers, exactly as he'd done that night around Christmas and then later down in the Potions dungeon; tentatively; tenderly; so very gently and very slowly, making little shivers run up and down her spine. Instinctively, she raised her hands to push him away, although the evil voice in her head encouraged her to draw him into a deep kiss.

_I'm dreaming._

**Your dreams come true.**

He seemed a bit hurt although his face gave nothing away and said, "I may have mistaken your behaviour, Miss—Professor. It seemed to me that—Forgive my mistaking your behaviour for an invitation." He bowed slightly, said, "Good evening," and turned to go.

**This is not a dream.**

"Don't." Sariss could hardly believe that the word had come without her even straining to say it. The word had boldly slipped over her lips. "It was. It…"

He went back to her and cupped her face again, merely looking at her. 

"It… It still is…"

And once more, his mouth came down to cover hers.

All too quickly, he drew back again, perhaps for fear she'd change her mind again, his hands still cupping her face, his thumb lightly stroking her jaw line and her lower lip. Sariss had closed her eyes as soon as their lips had made contact. She kept them closed now, waiting… Waiting for him to kiss her again, which he did after having looked at her for a few long seconds. She could almost feel his eyes on her skin before his lips met hers.

The shivers again. Sariss leant into the kiss, placing her hands against his chest, then running them up and slipping them around his neck, entwining her fingers in his jet-black hair, that was slightly greasy as usual—something inevitable when you brewed and worked with potions of any kind. Nonetheless, it felt soft and good and, frankly, at the moment she wouldn't even have cared if it had been dirty and tangled. All that mattered was his deepening the kiss—although not invading her—as she'd started to kiss him back, his arms embracing her, the feel of his lips against hers, soft and hard at the very same moment, as only the mouth of a man could ever be, his hands against the small of her back, pulling her almost roughly against his body, as though he had been waiting for this for years on end, lifting her up so that only the tips of her toes touched the floor, enveloping her in a warmth that seemed to light a fire in her that she'd never thought she had inside of herself, warming her to the core of her very being…

She needed no more dreams.

He had very warm hands, she noted absent-mindedly as the heat they emanated started seeping through the thin silky material of the dress she wore—or so it seemed to her now at least. She started to feel light-headed; he positively overwhelmed her senses. It felt as though he were the only thing that kept her upright at all; she had no control over her body anymore; her knees were weak, her breathing shallow… He was definitely kissing her senseless.

This couldn't be happening… It wasn't real… It was like the dream… It couldn't be…

But it was.

**~*~*~**

"Sariss," he said; then paused, watching, as she froze in mid-movement at the mentioning of her given name, only her given name, nothing else. "Look at me." She was trying to worm her way out of this, he could tell as much from the way she averted his gaze, willing her body to move yet not moving at all—and her silence. 

He stepped closer, whispering her name once again. He was now close enough to notice that his breath stirred her hair as he did so. "Say my name," he said, detecting the slight trembling, the little shivers, that must have been crawling all over her. Or at least he thought he did. Gazing intently at her face he mentally willed her to look up which—at some point, perhaps because he said no more or because he was deliberately invading her privacy—she did. 

As he caught the look in her eyes, the sight of her slightly quivering lower lip that indicated that his presence, the closeness of their bodies, made her feel highly nervous, he seemed to have lost the ability to speak. 

Instead, he raised his hands to her face, cupping it, running his fingertips lightly over her cool, smooth skin, and lowered his lips to hers, only brushing them—but very slowly for the sake of prolonging it as much as possible (who could tell if he'd ever have the chance to do so again?)—so as not to startle her. After all, he might have read the signs wrong, who could tell exactly—especially with _this_ woman?

And indeed, it seemed to be so, as she pushed him away. 

A strange feeling passed over him. Something akin to emptiness or hurt, a slight twinge in his heart or soul or whatever he had instead of them—as he couldn't believe he still had those after all that he had done.

With quite some effort, he managed to hide his initial turmoil and said, "I may have mistaken your behaviour, Miss—Professor." _Those stupid slips of the tongue_, he cursed silently. _Just what I need._ "It seemed to me that—," he hesitated. "Forgive my mistaking your behaviour for an invitation." He gave a slight bow. "Good evening," he added and turned to go, to leave her behind forever, already thinking about how to drain his mind of the thought of her so it wouldn't revolve around her every single second of the—.

"Don't." It was her voice. Was it a tinge of panic he could make out there?

"It was. It…"

He fought not to rush at her, sweep her up into his arms and bestow deep and hard kisses on her, as he would have liked to do. Instead, he merely took her face in his hands again. "It… It still is…" she stuttered, her eyes very large, and he let his lips brush hers once more. This time, she didn't push him away.

He felt her shiver beneath his touch, much more than she had been shivering the whole evening, and drew back, looking at her face. She had her eyes closed and didn't open them. A distinct blush had settled on her cheeks.

_Lovely,_ was the first thought his dazed mind provided.

Severus brought his lips to hers one more time, and then something incredible happened. She parted her lips, not only leaning into the kiss but also responding, kissing him back very tentatively at first. It brought forth feelings in him that could only be described as downright sinful—something he hadn't experienced for a very long time. Her hands moved up into his hair as he intensified the kiss, lowering his hands from her face to her waist, embracing her, pulling her close and pressing her against the length of his body. He was sure he'd have lifted her off the ground completely if she had been only an inch smaller, but even so, he could tell that there wasn't very much holding her upright but his arms around her.

The way she was clinging to him, the taste of her, the softness and faint moisture of her lips… Those lips were kissing him; he had almost forgotten what a real kiss felt like, given unconditionally and freely, the complete absence of the outer world as if time were standing still…

_If only time would stand still…_

**~*~*~**

The torches on the walls that had burned rather low all the time suddenly flared high, flickering, throwing dancing shadows over the two of them, illuminating the two figures who were too absorbed in each other to notice; even Sariss, who had always dreaded doing any accidental magic of the extent she was capable of…

Finally they broke apart, in desperate need for air; they'd been close to suffocating.

Both equally stunned at what had just passed between them, they needed a few seconds to gather the bruised and battered remains of their wits.

"Good night," Severus said, hesitant to release her, his voice not quite as steady as it was under normal circumstances.

"Good night," Sariss whispered breathlessly. "Severus…" And within a couple of moments she had disappeared into her rooms, closing the door behind her, leaning her back against it, trying to gather her wits again so she could at least grasp what just had happened. She couldn't deny that she _had_ indeed fantasized about this—what it would be like to… How else could she have dreamt it over and over? 

All of a sudden, it became clear to her that the thoughts she kept having weren't so new. In fact, they were rather familiar and years old… But she'd dismissed thoughts like these as some sort of a childish crush, which they had been, hadn't they? Admiration for a brilliant mind, respect towards something like a father figure? It had surely been only his intellect that she had come to admire; what else could it have been? He had always—no not always, just most of the time—been… obnoxious, cruel, sneering… What was wrong with her that all of a sudden she found his personality actually _charming_ sometimes?! 

Perhaps it was that he was so complex and also complicated, hiding his feelings, his vulnerability under a mask of lacking concern for everything around him—and she knew he was keeping the greater part of himself locked up. Not quite unlike herself sometimes… That much he had given away clearly only a few minutes ago. He had put everything in that first gentle kiss that he hadn't been able to say. 

But it had somehow always been his voice that made goose bumps erupt all over her skin. Even when she had hardly been eleven years old, it had been so. The way he'd rushed into the Potions dungeon… "I can teach you how to bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses," he'd said. "I can tell you how to bottle fame, brew glory and even put a stopper in death." She wondered if he still did that introduction. 

Back then she had not yet been able to define those sensations, had not been able to label his tone of voice as sensual as well as seductive yet. After all, she'd been a student, a child that had even been scared of him—the way he moved, his piercing cold black eyes, the constant scowl on his face, the intenseness of his suppressed emotions—whereas he had been a grown-up man with a temper that rivalled the one she'd developed when she'd grown up (and had a hard time keeping it under control, by the way—he at least didn't cause all those _little accidents_). Coincidence? Had he unconsciously influenced her in more than just her obsession with Potions? She had so hoped he'd help her find out what _that_ potion had been. If one person could have found out, it would have been him. But he hadn't. No one had. Only Voldemort knew what exactly it had done and she would definitely not ever be able to ask him. She wouldn't even go near him if she could help it at all—but still she wanted nothing more than revenge. Strange, how even now he wouldn't leave her mind, now that it should be filled with—.

However, Severus Snape had managed one thing: He had bewitched her mind, ensnared her senses. Tonight he had. And he hadn't even needed a potion to do so. With a single word followed by a kiss, he had had an effect on her… No spell could ever have caused sensations like the ones he had drawn from a place inside her heart, soul, mind—she had no idea where—that had yet been untouched territory. Did he have any idea what he'd put her through earlier this evening, when he'd been dancing with her? So close, so—sensual… She had had a hard time controlling all those contradictory sensations and thoughts, pushing them into a faraway corner of her mind where they wouldn't bother her too much—and it had been she who had started it!

She had never thought it possible. Actually, she'd always fought feelings like this, feelings that must have been lurking in the back of her mind for quite some time already, now that she thought them over…

_Looks like I've finally lost this battle—._

**Indeed. You have been conquered. Was about high time, wasn't it?**

_—and something tells me I've lost the war, too._

**That would be me now.**

_You never stop, do you?_

**Nope, I'm here to point those things out when you least like to have them pointed out.**

_Oh, goodie…_

**Quite a kisser, huh?**

_I refuse to discuss that with you. You were there. You know what it was like. Question already answered._

**Oh, alright. Sigh…**

He had broken down the remains of the already crumbling wall she'd built around her heart, her soul—yet he hadn't even had to use force to accomplish this. He'd just needed to say her name in that particular way he'd said it, step close and simply kiss her senseless. Who would have thought it that easy to break her defences?

Sariss slept little that night, pondering… All of this was so strange, so new…

And it had the nice side effect that—without sleeping—she didn't have to dream. She was confused enough as it was.

**~*~*~**

Severus's thoughts equalled hers in more than one respect as he made his way to his chambers down in the dungeons—yet not in as many words. He could still feel the imprint of her lips on his, the tingling sensation of her hands on his face, his neck, in his hair. He could still taste her, smell the sweet scent of her hair on his robes. A luscious and fruity strawberry fragrance, fresh and light but oh so unutterably sweet.

His arms felt strangely empty. The few patches of bare skin she had touched had seemingly come alive. It seemed her touch lingered although she was not there any longer. He let himself be carried away by those precious moments that had already passed into the past and into his memories.

That night, Severus Snape fell asleep with a smile on his lips. No Dreamless Sleep Potion was needed. He wanted to dream, relive those precious minutes… He felt twenty years younger suddenly, excited like a teenager. Yes, it was very well possible that he was in love… Once again… And, perhaps, she'd love him in return, at least a bit…

**Next chapter:**

The aftermath. And two people decide that what they're up to is no wise idea—but do it anyway. And Sariss threatens to hex Severus if he doesn't wash his hair…


	16. Let Me Tear Your Heart Apart

**Author's note:** Thanks go to **Butterfly** and **Blaise**, the most loyal reviewers who write the longest and most entertaining reviews ff.net has ever seen in all of its existence. Positively spiffing of you!

Chapter 15: Let Me Tear Your Heart Apart

**_Open your arms and let me show you what love can be like.  
It's all tears and it will be 'til the end of your time.  
Come closer, my love.  
Will you let me tear your heart apart?  
Now all hope is gone; so drown in this love._**

_—HIM: It's all Tears_

Sariss was a bit unsure as to how to approach Severus Snape the next morning—or rather noon. Because of the dance she had decided to sleep in and skip breakfast. It had been a long night last night, after all—and what an ending! 

She felt nervous—she felt like this quite a lot lately—as she made her way down the marble staircase, chancing looks at the entrance to the dungeons. What would she do if he came up there now? What would she say? What had last night meant to him, the kiss and all?

Had it confused him as much as her? And yet, her thoughts were clear, clearer than they had been for a very long time. It was now he who occupied her mind and not Voldemort. Severus—it felt strange to think of him like this—Severus had not only managed to drive him from her mind. He had managed to drive the memories back—at least for a while—and bring thoughts of the present and future into her mind…

When she arrived at the high table, most of the professors were already assembled, the students chatting happily with each other, the world outside, under attack by Voldemort, completely forgotten. Inside Hogwarts things changed constantly, yet they stayed the same. It didn't matter who fought against whom, the headmaster kept those things from those children as much as possible. He had always done so.

"Good morning, Professors," Sariss said.

"Good morning?" Dumbledore laughed. "For you it might be. Having slept late, huh?"

Sariss smiled sheepishly. "Quite a night last night, wasn't it? You were up until the wee hours of the morning, too, if I recall correctly…"

"Indeed, indeed. But, my dear, you must keep in mind that once you're in my age you don't need very much sleep anymore. You, however, as far as I can tell, enjoyed yourself very much, didn't you?"

"I was a nice evening… A lovely party…" Sariss trailed off as she saw the Potions master walk through the doorway. She forced her eyes back towards Dumbledore and McGonagall. "Excuse me? What did you say, Professor McGonagall?"

"I said to me it looked like you had more than just a 'nice' evening."

"I have no idea what you might be referring to…" Sariss tried to look innocent and also—if only a tiny little bit—mildly scandalised.

McGonagall, however, only nodded knowingly. And Dumbledore's eyes twinkled especially expectantly as Severus Snape sat down on Sariss's other side.

"Good day, _Professor_ Ravon," he said.

"Good day to you, too, Se—Professor Snape," Sariss managed to break off before his first name slipped over her lips. She had tried his name several times this morning and suddenly found it very kind to the ear when she said it. How strange a thought that was… But he had just said 'Professor Ravon.' Had he ever called her that? Yes, once. And laying so much emphasis on the 'Professor'—it was confusing. She didn't know how to react to that, other than sticking to the 'Professor' herself.

"Good day, Severus. You, too, seemed to enjoy the party last night very much," Dumbledore said merrily, his light-blue eyes twinkling as always—almost always.

"Indeed, I have, headmaster," he replied curtly, returning his attention to his lunch. He hadn't even looked at Sariss for more than a few seconds, not much more than a look in passing.

A fact that somehow tore at her. 

_So it really hasn't meant anything…_

Despite herself, Sariss felt disappointed.

But he hadn't promised anything, had he? Perhaps he had only acted on the whim of the moment… She didn't want to believe that he had kissed her to hurt her; no, they were past that and, after all, she would have sensed menace or cruel intentions. There hadn't been any bad feelings between them for quite some time. Supposedly Sariss would have felt it if he had borne a grudge against her—but why didn't she feel anything coming from him now? Was it because there were too many people in here, too much excitement still lingering in the hearts of the students, remnants of last night? Or was he just hiding his feelings very well at the moment? 

She knew he was very good at that. How else could she have managed to stay in the same room with him when she had been a child and not yet been so good at forcing back other people's emotions, especially when they were strong emotions—he who had so much pain, hate and—yes—even regrets and suffering inside of him? The regrets of a former Death Eater. Many regrets. And guilt, too. It tormented him still, after all those years. That might be the reason why he was pushing everyone away from him, why he was so cold and severe most of the time… He had locked everything up inside of him not unlike a scream that would not come out. And if it did, it would shatter the ears of everyone listening to it… 

Not unlike her own state. Only with her it was mostly the _powers_…

No, she wouldn't hold it against him if it hadn't meant anything to him. Perhaps he had needed it. She had to admit that she had. At that moment it had felt right—somehow. The right thing to do…

She would just try and build up the walls again, the walls he had broken through last night, having scratched at and hammered onto them for quite some time already and then finally broken them down…

Listlessly, Sariss picked at her food. She suddenly didn't feel very hungry anymore.

"If you'll excuse me…" Snape got up to leave—she noticed he hadn't eaten very much either—and turned to walk away, most likely back down to the dungeons. 

All of a sudden she noticed a very small and tightly folded piece of parchment lying in close proximity of her goblet. Had he—but how? How had he managed to slip her a parchment that discreetly? Or had it been lying there all the time? She couldn't have missed it—or could she? Sariss had to admit that she had been too busy shoving her food around on the plate and too lost in her thoughts to notice anything…

She looked up questioningly as soon as her brain had processed the information, but he was already at the doorway, his robes billowing behind him like the wings of a very large bat.

After a few more minutes, so as not to arouse any suspicions from the headmaster, whose eyes and mind never escaped anything, Sariss set down her fork onto the plate.

"Excuse me, Professors. I have very much work to do." 

Dumbledore nodded, chancing a look at her plate. Sariss groaned inwardly. He was treating her as though he were her father—again. Child, did you do this? Child, have you done that? She remembered very clearly… But she had to admit, he had cared for her when she had had no one… Yet, she was a grown-up woman now, for heaven's sake! And he was still—sod this! There's a parchment to be read. What would it read?

She got up, the parchment firmly clutched—and hidden—in her hand. She couldn't very well read it here, could she? Thus, she sneaked out into the Entrance Hall and sat down on the staircase.

The Hall was empty except for her.

Carefully, she unrolled the parchment. There were only two words written there. 

_Kiss me._

"What?" she whispered, confused. 

The words vanished. Sariss bent closer over the parchment, shoving her hair out of the way, as words began to spread anew, the scrawl a bit more urgent-looking, perhaps…

_Kiss me!_

"Who—or what—are you?" she asked softly.

The words disappeared and were replaced by two new ones. 

_The Parchment, what else? Silly question, really._

Kiss the parchment? This was so bizarre. A new Zonko's product, perhaps? Did Snape—Severus—actually have a—granted, very strange and dry—sense of humour?

Sariss shrugged and did as requested.

The parchment answered after a few seconds.

_Mmm… As soon as you'd started unfolding me, I somehow knew it would take more than one request to make you do this. I wish I had been bewitched to ask you for another kiss—but the poor parchment that I am…_

A slow smile spread across her face as she read this—and she blew another kiss onto the parchment, having to throw her hair behind her shoulders once more as she had only magicked part of it to stay on top of her head, which it would too if Sariss didn't absent-mindedly fumble with it so much.

If written words could actually express a smile, then these ones did it now, loopy and large as they had become. 

_THANK YOU!!! And now here's your reward…_

The writing disappeared and was replaced by a scrawl that she recognized. Severus Snape's meticulous, reserved, handwriting. Her smile disappeared. What if…

She held her breath as she began to read:

_Sariss._

_I was not sure as to how I should approach you in front of all those people. I apologize for, perhaps, making you believe that I had forgotten or was ignoring what happened. I do not know what it meant to you, the kiss we shared, last night. If it meant to you as much as to me—. _

_This is useless. Forgive me. I'm not good at writing those things or, for that matter, expressing them at all. I never was._

_Once I see you alone, I will try and explain the reasons for my behaviour more clearly. They could fill a book—but then again, they might not. I might just use them as an alleged reason to see you…_

_S.****_

_PS: If you feel like you should, maybe, see me, completely non-committal, of course, you can find me in my office—as though you'd need to be told that…_

_PPS: You probably find my struggle with words highly amusing by now. How about hearing me stutter personally as I try to form reasonably coherent sentences?_

By now, some large tears were trickling down onto the parchment. Tears of silent laughter as well as something else that could not quite be fathomed that easily. He had moved her deeply; that much was clear. Somehow, Sariss realized with a smile, this was the letter she had been waiting for all her life. How shy and with how much reserve he had chosen the words… She suddenly became conscious of the fact that it must have cost him quite some courage to approach her the way he had done it. No one had ever dared to do that. They had been too frightened. Even those who had never met her before. And even before they had touched her icy skin. It was the power. Even when she suppressed it, it seeped through every pore of her. Dumbledore had explained this once. A powerful wizard—and thus not quite so afraid of her. 

The thing with Severus—unquestionably a powerful wizard, too—on the other hand, was a complete mystery to her. Why it had to be him… And why now? When she had been a student there had been nothing… But he had never touched her skin until a few months ago, she suddenly realized. When he had touched her, and as far as she remembered it had only been once—no twice—he had only touched her back and her arm, no bare skin… If he had, and if the two of them had reacted to it the way they did now… Trouble. Scandal! In retrospect, it was funny, but if… 

**Stop! No ifs anymore.**

_Should I… Should I go see him now?_

Wouldn't it be better to let a few minutes pass or even an hour or so? Just to make it not appear as though she were too keen on seeing him, too interested? Goodness, she had never done anything like this. Ever. But he had been so shy in this letter. She would never have thought that behind all this superficial coldness was such a… such a cute—.

_I'm calling him cute! I can't believe it! I am twenty-seven; he's thirty-seven years old, and I start to think of him as cute, which he is quite obviously not._

**Oh, but he_ is_!** the voice spoke up. Sariss rolled her eyes at herself.

What the hell, he was stuttering like a teenager, too. When it was so hard for him on paper when he could think about what to write down first, how hard would it be to actually say what he wanted to say—unless he had rehearsed, of course.

Sariss chuckled at the thought. She could almost imagine it. Him, standing in front of the mirror, asking his reflection for advice on what to say—_Wait a minute! I did that when I prepared my apology…_

Shaking her head at herself, she decided that today was to be her generous day. She'd go and see him right now. And, she had to admit, she was very, very nervous. The anticipation was killing her, but of course, she'd never admit this. She was also nervous because of the fact that her mind seemed completely blank as to what to say when she'd finally stand face to face with him. What if they just stood there, gaping at each other, and no words would come?

Taking a deep breath, she got up and—a little hesitantly—headed down the staircase to the dungeons, the letter still clutched in her hand. If she could help it she'd preserve it forever, keep it as a treasure. When did a girl receive a letter remotely like this one? The closest thing to a love letter she had ever had?

Nearing the classroom in which the entrance to his office was located, she realized that her cheeks must still be wet from the tears and quickly wiped them away. No tears, when all the sadness that was constantly there, always lurking in the back of her mind, was for once held in check by something that came very close to genuine happiness.

And after all, who wanted a maudlin wreck of a woman for a (_I can't believe I'm thinking in those terms…_) girlfriend?

When she reached for the door handle, she noticed that the door was lightly ajar. Thus, she cautiously pushed it open and slipped inside. Very quietly…

Severus Snape was not in his office. He was in the adjacent classroom, this classroom. He was arranging some jars and bottles on one of the shelves. Maybe it was just her impression, but somehow his hands didn't seem so clever anymore and his mind not really concentrated on what he was doing. He kept shoving the objects around; once having set them down, he soon took them again and placed them somewhere else. Apparently he had difficulty in deciding if he should sort them by name or by use. And if he were to sort them by name, then by which one? Many of the ingredients were referred to by different names, such as aconite, monkshood, wolfsbane… Clearly, he had been looking for something to occupy himself with until Sariss came—hopefully.

Now, what would have happened if she had let him wait? Sariss had to bite her lip to keep herself from laughing, when she heard him groan with desperation at the task he'd obviously set himself. 

Enough was enough. She decided to deliver him from the evil he had manoeuvred himself into—by slamming the door. Hard.

He whirled around, startled, and dropped a package of fluxweed—or rather, it had been supposed to become a package one day. Severus had just been tying it up a bit when he had dropped it.

The expression on his face was priceless. Sariss almost felt sorry for him.

She rushed towards him and dropped to her knees as he had done; the thread had come loose and the fluxweed was scattered on the floor.

"I'm a clumsy creature," he muttered apologetically.

"It was my fault. I startled you," Sariss replied softly, shoving another handful of weed towards the heap that was largest. Then she began arranging the weeds so that they could be tied up again. It reminded her of binding a bouquet of flowers, only that this was dried weed, no blossoms, no green, only dry, rustling, brownish herbs…

Severus did the same. Another heap, another arrangement. He took the thread, carefully wrapped it around the fluxweed so as not to make it break more than it had already.

"I'll get you another thread," he said, reaching for his wand.

"No need," she whispered, conjuring one up with a flick of her wrist and making it tie itself around her little herbal bouquet. Then she reached out to take it and hand it to Snape.

But she never got this far. He took hold of her hand before even her fingertips touched their destination and turned it around until her palm faced upwards. Running the very tips of his fingers in little circles over her palm, he murmured, "Those hands really do magic…" Like a shock it felt, the tingling sensation that, at his touch, had started creeping up her arm. Then he bent his head and pressed his lips to her palm. 

_Struck by lightning._

"Severus." She said his name to buy herself some time to string together the following sentence. "This er… highly amusing and… _very_ lovely parchment here promised me some explanations as to why—" 

"Er… Yes," he interrupted. He indicated the door. "Office."

**How very eloquent he—.**

_Shut up._

The anxiety Sariss had felt only minutes ago had completely disappeared. She had completely forgotten to feel nervous as soon as she had sensed his emotional turmoil.

"Sit," he said curtly, as the door fell shut behind her. 

And she sat down, in the same chair she'd already been sitting in once before, however in a situation much more unpleasant. 

**Don't count your chickens before they're hatched…**

"I… er…" he trailed off and anxiously ran a hand through his hair. "I can't seem to find a way to start…"

"How about an explanation as to why you… behaved so…"

"Distant, strange?" Severus provided.

Sariss nodded.

"First of all, because I feel strange," he faltered. He closed his eyes. "As to why I would prefer it to be kept secret, should there be more… between us…" (She could tell that he was not used to using phrases like this one.) "You do know that I made a mistake, chose the wrong side…" he trailed off, opening his eyes and throwing a brief look towards her—perhaps to assure himself that she was still listening, that she wasn't showing any signs of not understanding what he meant.

Sariss nodded again. "You were a Death Eater. I know that. I always knew…"

"Yes," he said unsteadily and turned away. It pained him to speak about this. He still suffered because of what he had done back then. Sariss inwardly made a vow as to never ask him what exactly he had done. For one, because she sensed how much he must be regretting every single one of his deeds, secondly, because she knew what Death Eaters did—and she stubbornly refused to picture him like that.

She felt a tear trickle down her cheek. "You don't have to talk about this, if it pains you so much," she said softly, barely audibly.

"I do. It makes me a target. I'm a marked man," he replied hoarsely. "And if you decide to be with me, it will make you a target, too. Even more than you already are—." 

"I'm not a target. Not anymore. Why should I be?"

"Who wouldn't want to use your powers? Who would let you fight for their enemy if they can help it? Who wouldn't rather kill you than risk to fight you sooner or later?" he spoke up. "Either one of us could be used to get to the other one. You could be used to make me—." 

"He's still after me? Is it possible? After all this time?" she whispered more to herself than to him. If he wanted her he would have had a dozen opportunities, every time she went on a mission, every Death Eater raid she had been sent to take care of—but she had almost never been alone… Was that it? Was Voldemort only biding his time?

The deadly seriousness in Severus's voice made her shiver. Fear. Fear for her…

"I wouldn't place it beyond him. I wouldn't place _anything_ beyond him…" he whispered bitterly. "You realize that an 'us' is far more dangerous than a 'you' or a 'me', don't you? The way it is now, either one of us could be killed any moment—and you are aware of the fact that his… _style_… has changed considerably since he was restored, that he is much more cruel and vicious than ever before—and I know what I'm saying. I know it because I was there when he first rose to power. I took part in it. And if you asked me if I liked it—and I know you'll ask me this some time or other, who wouldn't?—I'd say yes. I even enjoyed it. The answer is yes."

Sariss swallowed. He was already afraid for her, knowing what Death Eaters were capable of, what _he_ had been capable of when—.

And despite everything he had written—no rather confessed—in the letter, he was hurting her, deeply, projecting the hatred he felt for himself towards her, pushing her away from him to protect her, from danger, from Voldemort, from himself—or rather from his past—and in doing so, he protected himself, too; he guarded his secrets. How much into detail would he go to accomplish the task he had apparently set himself now?

And that when minutes ago… 

More tears threatened to come. She blinked them back.

He glanced over his shoulder, but didn't really look at her. She couldn't see his face through the curtain of his jet-black hair. 

"Still here?" he said, deliberately making his voice sound cold, but he was not in a state to force his emotions back. The words pained him as much as they were supposed to hurt her, to drive her away. She had never felt emotions as strong as his were now. They could break her heart, if she let them invade her… Pain, desperation, guilt, hope… A heart-breaking mixture…

Sariss didn't reply, she couldn't. Her voice was not to trust at the moment. She bent her head, briefly rubbing her temples, and allowed her hair to obscure her face. It was very useful to hide her expression at moments like this when she couldn't keep up her composure any longer. That was why she always let a few strands of it fall down on either side of her face… To hide herself. I don't see you. You don't see me. It was as easy as that.

And now it was extremely useful, since she felt she wouldn't be able to hold back the tears for much longer. He had all but called her to him and then—he wanted to push her away again, throw her away, hurt her enough so she would not go near him again, not flirt with disaster…

He walked past her then, his billowing robes causing a light draught, stirring her hair. She raised her eyes, yet not her head and saw him standing at the door. He had opened it. "You might want to leave," he said, his voice not as controlled as it usual was.

Sariss stood up, slowly, not trusting herself enough to look him in the face. She would really start crying if she did. She would. It was too much. Simply too much. What if he didn't react at all?

Even more slowly, she walked towards the doorway—or maybe it only seemed so to her. The difference was startling. When she had walked through this doorway earlier that day she had been in high spirits, almost applying for a permanent seat on Cloud No. 9… And now…

When she had almost reached him—Severus was still standing there, his hand holding the door open—apparently it had a tendency to fall shut—she decided to say something, no matter if her voice obeyed or didn't…

"Was it true, what you wrote in the letter?" she asked, already standing in the doorway—the door would surely fall shut any moment now—her voice thick with unshed tears. She had to hear his answer. She had to hear him say what she knew already. If he'd decided he didn't want her despite the fact that everything about him screamed at her that this was not so, he'd have to tell her that straight out. She would stand for nothing less. "Was it the truth?" 

"It is the truth," he whispered very, very softly. And as soon as he had uttered the words, the tears started to flow, unhindered, no forcing them back. Silently she cried, only allowing very small sobs to escape her. She couldn't have held them back, as she needed to breathe…

It seemed she couldn't will her feet to move anymore, yet they were moving, but slowly.

She didn't have the strength to make the decision permanent, and it wasn't really her decision if she left now. Everything was blurry. And it was not only that way because of her watery vision. She couldn't tell which of the emotions she felt were his or hers or anyone's… Thus, she waited for _him_ to decide whether he rather wanted her out of there or in—.

"It is the truth," he repeated softly.

And then she felt him put his arm around her, guiding her back inside. She mechanically set one foot before the other, and again, and again…

The door snapped shut.

Wordlessly, he guided her back towards the chair, but before they reached it, Sariss turned around and threw herself into his arms, openly crying now. The tension had been too much, and the sudden release caused a few breakable objects to do just that. For once in her life, Sariss didn't even wince when she heard the tiny explosions, since Severus had hesitantly put his arms around her and gently rubbed her back.

"Don't—try and—push me—away—again," she forced out shakily, her voice muffled since she had nestled into his robes, her arms around his waist, intending to never let go—or at least not in the near future. "I couldn't—."

"I'll have to do that. I can't very well talk to you as it is now," he whispered into her hair and gently began to extricate himself from her grasp.

"Then don't," Sariss sniffed and swallowed another sob.

He continued despite her weak protests, tilted her head up to make her face him and smoothed her hair back. It was already sticking to her cheeks.

This gesture of his was so tender, so loving, that it did the complete opposite of what he supposedly wanted to accomplish by doing what he did: Fresh tears came.

"Sariss, what have I done to you?" he asked more himself than her and wiped them away—a totally useless action… He never had a chance. "I didn't…"

She couldn't answer, hiccoughing that she was, gasping for air—and his question didn't actually call for a reply either. But finally she managed to say, "You were right. I'm not as unbreakable as I'd like to be." She was interrupted by her own hiccoughs.

Hearing herself make those noises, she began to laugh. It sounded more like choking than laughing. After a few moments she had willed herself to breathe reasonably normal again and said, "Listen to me, I sound like a baby. I'm sorry. I didn't want to cause a scene or what. It's just that…" She resumed hiccoughing. "Oh no, not again—just ignore it." Raising a hand to her face, she wiped her eyes and then, for the first time since Merlin knew when she looked at him, really looked at him.

Severus had dropped his hands to his sides as he stood there, hardly two feet away from her. He looked helpless, somewhat shaken even. Of course, he could never have been prepared for a reaction like this. He might have thought she'd merely flee from his office, run away… The classic reaction, very simple. Like everyone else, he had no idea of what was lurking under the surface of Sariss Ravon's pale and—according to others—beautiful face. 

A miserable creature was there, finding not enough happiness inside of herself to make her life worth living, letting herself be enveloped by the positive feelings of others, and sometimes, when she caught the negative ones, feeling dreadful, crying until no more tears would come. She had never told anyone about how she really felt, not even Aurora who had known her for over a decade, who had slept in the same dormitory for seven years. Sariss had cried herself to sleep silently. It was worst when the world was asleep, when emptiness invaded her, the complete absence of anything… And Sariss had become used to it, paying no longer any attention to it, pushing it away, ignoring those moments, waiting for them to pass…

"I'm messing everything up, aren't I?" He ran a hand through his hair. Sariss noted that he did this quite a lot when he was in the same room with her. If he kept this up, he'd be bald very soon… "Again, I've forgotten that I have to be even more careful with my emotions when I'm around you than around anyone else. And I promised Dumbledore I would be more careful, so as not to repeat the little row we had—."

"You spoke to Dumbledore about me?" Fortunately, she sounded normal again.

"Of course."

"What exactly has he told you?" Sariss was suddenly highly attentive. Perhaps Dumbledore had found out and told him something about why the Dark Lord had done what he had done, why he had wanted her like this, or perhaps dead, in the first place… Maybe he had found something that could make that certain incident undone…

"Nothing that I couldn't have figured out on my own if I had just opened my eyes and ears and looked and listened to you."

Sariss slumped into the chair. "So he hasn't told you anything that could be of use to somehow make me—." 

"No," he said simply.

She nodded, staring into nothingness. No tears anymore. Empty—at least for now. That was something to be grateful for.

"Sariss," she heard him say. "I am at a loss. I don't know what to make of you."

"I don't blame you. I don't know it myself," she whispered bitterly and then moved to get up again. 

_Well, at least we might not be arguing so much now._

After having taken a few steps and found that her legs obeyed, she said, "If you'd rather have me leave now, I wouldn't—" 

"Do you honestly think I can let you go now, when I couldn't even let you go when I all but threw you out?" he asked, stepping closer and taking her hands. She was still clutching the letter. "What I said is unforgivable, what I did is unforgivable. First, I all but command you to come and see me and then I hurt you for the sole reason that… that I get cold feet at the crucial moment. That seems to happen a lot. Me backing out of some thing or other…" he trailed off. He ran his hand through his hair one more time. "Before you came I knew exactly what to say to make you… I don't know… leave or stay… Rather the latter than the first, I guess. And I really wanted everything to be perfect. _I_ wanted to be perfect—and then I realized, no matter what, I never was and I never will be, not with all that I—."

It seemed that he'd never spoken so much before. Sariss interrupted him. "I once heard a wise man say there are no perfect men. Only perfect intentions," she said softly, gazing at him intently, glad that he had his emotions under control once more, at least the ones that brought her close to going insane, making her want to die instantly. 

"Oh, Sariss," he sighed. "Who but you would have refused to leave when I gave you the chance to do so? When I all but slapped you in the face?" He let go of her hands completely now, only to raise his hands to her face, touching her eyes, her cheeks, her lips, slowly and tenderly, like the wings of a butterfly. Sariss dropped the piece of parchment she had been clutching much too tightly all the time. It probably was wrinkled and smudged and who knew what else. 

_Nothing to frame and keep forever… _

**Who cares about a letter when there's a man like this? A man who can break you and heal you again within a couple of moments only by looking into your eyes and touching you?**

_I'm afraid I'm not in a state to answer you right now…_

At that moment, he had cupped her face as he had already done once and leant in, running his thumb over her lower lip, sending waves of electricity through her. "You realize that I will most likely not ever let go of you again if I can help it?" he whispered only inches away.

"I wouldn't be here if I didn't. I could have left. I still could," she replied softly, as she ran her hands up his chest and cupped his face as he still cupped hers, "but I won't."

_Although a part of me screams for me to simply run._

After a few moments of looking into each other's eyes, they simultaneously inched towards each other.

Sariss tilted her head a little to the side, an automatic movement. Unfortunately, so did Severus. 

**Sometimes this lovely nose of his could really prove to be quite an obstacle… **

She tilted her head to the other side, now quite deliberately; but so did Severus.

_Oh yes. You're so right about that._

**Which part of it do you mean? The 'lovely nose' part or the 'obstacle' part?**

_Both._

Sariss giggled at the absurdity of this situation. "This doesn't work. Hold still," she whispered, now serious again. "Hold still…"

Putting her arms around his neck, she stood on tiptoes and then brought her lips to his. It was the first time for her to kiss instead of _be_ kissed… He did hold still as she did so. But not for much longer. He lowered his hands and snaked them around her waist, lifting her off the ground for a moment as he pressed her against him, chest to chest, lips on lips.

Sariss's eyes fell shut, she felt drowsy as though he had wrapped her in cotton wool, but it felt heavenly, being engulfed by his warmth and want. It felt so good to be wanted. And he did. Quite obviously. She felt it even stronger now that he had ceased trying and emotionally pushing her away.

She sighed into his mouth as he deepened the kiss, parting her lips—all but making sparks fly from the electro-magnetism that was between them, drawing them towards each other—teasing and caressing her, so patiently, making her want to drown in him, encouraging her to let go of her bashfulness and reserve, making those familiar feelings of light-headedness—and, yes, perhaps it was even passion—spread through her body, the same as he had done the previous night.

All conscious thoughts fled as she gave in to him completely, opening her mouth under his, drinking him in, his taste, savouring him with breathless determination to memorize this moment, the feel of his lips, of his tongue and his teeth, every movement of his be it as small as a slight shifting of his hands on the small of her back or as exciting as the tip of his tongue gently moistening her already tingling and prickling lips…

**~*~*~**

After a very long time, Severus pulled back, catching his breath. He had no idea if all of this had gone as intended. Would it prove to have been a good or a bad thing that he had held her back when she had almost left? He couldn't tell her the real reasons why he wanted it to be kept secret. If he did, she would fear for him even more than she did now. And she would be shocked, too, that he still answered to the Dark Lord's calling.

But he had held her back for the simple reason that in that letter he had written what he seemingly couldn't force out when he was talking to her. The letter. Goodness, for hours he had pored over it this morning and it had nonetheless resulted in a somewhat stuttering demonstration that he couldn't find the words with which to describe what he felt. It wasn't something as simple as love. Thus, he couldn't use that word. It was more. He was drawn to her. The feeling in his stomach was similar to the one that tugged there when one touched a Portkey. Everything was swirling and blurry until he had arrived at his destination. And that destination seemed to be her. 

Be that as it may, the bewitched parchment had been the stroke of a genius. If she did what the parchment requested to reveal its secrets it was a good sign already—and then when she had come to him he had first acted clumsy and then heartless. 

_Well done, Severus Snape. You're an idiot trying to back out of it again only because you start thinking about the Dark Lord and your association with him_, he scolded himself. 

If only there weren't such a discrepancy between what he wanted and what he should do; between kissing her and not bringing her even more to the Dark Lord's attention. It had to be a secret. No one must now. No one must be given the chance to report anything about their relationship to anyone who was associated with Voldemort. As long as no one knew about how serious Severus's intentions were, he still had an ace up his sleeve in case something should happen…

Hurting her to save her from him—and, perhaps, from _himself_, too—what an incredibly stupid idea that had been. He had hurt himself even more than he could ever have hurt her. But in her case it was one and the same. It didn't matter which one of them felt it. She'd feel both either way.

He hadn't thought about that. Not really. The words had somehow come out—and that when he had once accused _her _of not thinking before speaking… What an irony that he had almost thrown away what he wanted most because of not thinking about what his words could do…

The mirror had not lied. Severus only wondered how he had lived before she came back into his life—no, not _back_ into his life, since this was not the girl he had once taught in class, no student; this was an overwhelmingly beautiful, strong—and yet so very vulnerable—woman, a mystery, a riddle to be solved or perhaps not to be solved. A woman with lips so soft as her words could be harsh, with lips so sweet as her tears were bitter and salty.

"Sariss…" 

"Hmm?" she whispered, her eyes still closed, her cheeks glowing with a rosy shimmer. He gently ran his fingertips over her cheek, thus making her open her eyes look at him.

"Sariss… Is this… This makes an 'us' out of 'you and me', doesn't it?" he faltered, chiding himself that he couldn't state it as it was, namely saying something like, 'Sariss, be with me, be my—' 'Girlfriend' sounded a bit strange considering they were both well beyond being teenagers… Was 'lover' an appropriate term? No, too early to think in those terms. And it sounded kind of stupid, too. He had known her since her childhood and still he barely knew her… 

_Be with me, Sariss. _

**Be mine.**

If she told anyone about how he started stuttering when he was around her, when he should have expressed his emotions, he was afraid he'd have to kill her. Of course, he would never really do that. But he felt so embarrassed, so helpless, so simply out of character. He would never let anyone see him like this as he frantically tried to find the right words to express himself with…

She gave him a small smile, which was nonetheless the first real, clearly visible, tearless smile; the first genuine smile she had ever directed at him, and it was like a ray of sunlight that penetrated the gloom in this room, the gloom in his heart.

"'Us'… 'We'… Sounds good to me," she decided. Her eyes sparkled.

He smiled back as she said this. He could read the amazement in her face. Had he never smiled at her before? Seemed to be so… 

"Sariss Ravon and Severus Snape… I shall have to find a tree to carve that into its bark…" he said, half-joking, half-serious.

"I shall have to draw little hearts around your name when I write it down in different colours and shapes—or for that matter, bewitch a stack of parchment to automatically paint some hearts around your name when it's written on it—say when a student addresses his or her Potions essay to you…" she grinned mischievously.

"You wouldn't do that," he chuckled.

"Never underestimate me. Never be too sure about what I would or wouldn't do," she said now, very serious again. "You don't know me as well as you might think."

"I never thought I knew you… That's a lie. I thought I knew you, but now I know I didn't," he replied. "But I'd like to know you, really know you."

"That's quite a challenge you set yourself, when not even my closest friends ever really knew me, when I don't even know me myself."

"I'm all for a challenge. Last night should have proved it quite convincingly."

"And I must admit you're quite good with challenging, too. The mistletoe has proved it quite convincingly."

"The mistletoe…" He shook his head. "I'm still sure that it wasn't hanging over my head when I stopped walking and waited for you to catch up on me."

"I didn't want to catch up on you. You had been getting on my nerves for quite some time through your sheer presence! Why would I have wanted to catch up?" she replied, her voice rising.

"That's quite a temper you have there."

"It's your fault when my temper gets the upper hand around you," she pouted. It made her lips look incredibly alluring. "You're turning me inside out and upside down."

"You really have no idea how you make me freak out. Sometimes I think you do this deliberately."

"Why should I do something like that deliberately? Who wants a scowling and sneering Potions master breathing down her neck?"

Severus was by now enjoying himself quite thoroughly. A bickering contest was something he was a natural at, something he could handle effortlessly, sarcasm, irony and snide remarks all-inclusive and for free.

"A few minutes ago," he began, "_you_—or should I have misunderstood something about the fact that you had—." 

"Oh, shut up!"

"A very eloquent repl—."

Suddenly he found himself in a very pleasant situation again. Sariss had found a way to silence him very, very effectively. She simply resumed where they had left off—meaning that she had drawn him into another kiss; a rather… er… mind-blowing kiss it was. Severus wouldn't have trusted her to kiss him like that. He had thought she was the woman with which to be very careful, a woman in whose nature it was to not make the first step, not ever, and not the second or third either, for that matter. And the way she behaved most of the time he had thought he had sort of learnt to read her—at least a bit… But he had underestimated her even though she had just told him that he shouldn't ever do that—and he had done it nonetheless. 

Beneath all this reserve and bashfulness there was something so overwhelmingly powerful, determined, and yet so very sensitive, a vulnerable soul. He had had a taste of her vulnerability and fragility when he had tasted her tears on her lips. She was indeed a contradiction in terms. She was summer and winter, night and day, love and hate, black and white—and she was all of this at the very same moment…

When she had finished kissing him senseless, he took a deep breath and said, "A rather effective—yet unfair—way to win an argument."

"First of all, this was no argument—yet. Secondly, it seems to be the only way to make you shut up, and thirdly, if I had known how easy it is, I would have done it when you accused me of 'undermining your authority'," she smirked, a hint of amusement in her voice as she said the last part.

"Please, make me accuse you again," he grinned suggestively, pulling her near again, and started to undo her hair. She let him. It felt so soft, like silk and satin, running through his fingers like water as the tresses flowed down her back. "Then you can try and see if it really works that way."

"What have I done? I _should_ have left when I had the chance…" She rolled her eyes and smiled at his actions, as he played with her hair. So long and heavy. So smooth. "Unfortunately I seem to be one of those people who stick with their choices…"

"So am I," he mumbled, against her lips again. 

"Then I seem to be stuck with you. I _should_ indeed have left," she replied teasingly, their breaths mingling.

"You really talk way too much sometimes…"

And this time it was his turn to kiss her senseless, which he did, entwining his fingers in her hair as she entwined hers in his, revelling in its feel, its scent, its heaviness.

"What now?" she asked unsteadily when he'd pulled back.

"What do you mean?"

"We can't very well lock ourselves in here and kiss all the time. I don't know how it is with you, but I think at least I would be thoroughly missed. Your absence, however, would lighten the mood of a great bunch of students very much."

"Unfortunately," Severus said, twisting a curl of her hair around his fingers. "But if I had my way—."

"Which won't be possible in the near future because of danger, danger, danger…" she interrupted him. "Continue, please."

He scowled down at her in mock-outrage. "If I had my way, which won't be possible for the previously mentioned reasons," _and many more that I can't tell you about_, he added silently, "I'd indeed vouch for locking us up in here or preferably in a much nicer and more comfortable room."

"Sounds nice. Another reason to defeat Voldemort as soon as the opportunity presents itself," she replied, a tinge of bitterness but also fierce determination in her voice.

"If the prophecy is right, the opportunity will present itself, hopefully soon."

"The prophecy. May it come true."

He pulled her into an embrace. "May it come true," he repeated, stroking her back, burying his face in her hair. "Gods, I sure do love your hair. It smells so good. And it's so soft…"

"Go on flattering me as long as you wish," she said, snuggling into him. Her arms were around his shoulders, her coldish fingertips moving slightly against the base of his neck. It made his hair stand on end—or so it felt to him at least. "Mmm. That's nice," she mumbled. "How do you do it, being so warm and all, when at first sight you look quite the opposite?"

"Now that's something I haven't been asked yet. I don't know the answer to that question," he replied. "But if you want to you can use me as your very own personal fireplace any time. Just be careful not to melt those icy hands of yours all too much."

She didn't reply to that; she only made a small noise of contentment.

"I should go now," she murmured after a minute. "I still have some work to do. This dance thing and all have mixed up my schedule quite a bit."

"Pity," he said. "But then again, I, too, have lessons to prepare… Work tends to interfere at the most unpleasant moments, or for that matter, at the most pleasant ones."

"Sod's law, isn't it?" She lifted her head and looked him in the face. "Have a nice day, Severus Snape," she whispered, running her hand over his cheek and into his hair, then leaning in for another quick kiss, by doing so sending those delicious sensations through him again.

"You, too, have a nice day. I'll see you at dinner, then?" He wondered if she felt his gaze on her skin. If such a thing was possible at all, it should be searing her. Severus was almost ashamed that he looked at her with those thoughts soaring all about his mind. Almost.

"Yes, you'll see me. Then you can prove if you can keep the charade up."

"That won't be much of a problem. You and your evil temper will see to that," he drawled.

She briefly wrinkled her nose at him and tsked, as she turned and headed towards the door. Her hand already on the handle, she turned around once more. "And wash your hair. It really needs it," she playfully scolded him.

"So you're already commanding me what to do and what not?" he asked, raising his eyebrows. "What if I don't want to? It's really not of much use, anyway…"

"I'll bewitch it to turn pink every time you start feeling like… well… you did until a few moments ago."

"I get the point." He raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. "This emotion-reading business of yours is really annoying," he replied. Then, very thoughtfully, he added, "Should I feel embarrassed?"

"I've sensed much worse than that coming from you already, and I also know a great deal of students who'd blush furiously if they knew that I can sense very strong emotions of any kind." She grinned. A remarkable difference. "But I try not to listen—or whatever you might call it—too much."

"How is it when you're around a lot of people?" he asked curiously. As of yet he hadn't really understood that ability of hers to read emotions, if she filtered them out or not, if she could single one person out at random, tell to whom which emotion belonged. Only one thing was clear to him. When alone in a room she felt his emotional state quite effortlessly, even without wanting to.

"You really want to know everything, don't you?" she asked. "All of a sudden? Isn't that too much information in much too short a time?" 

"To your first question: Of course. To your second: Yes. To your third: I don't think so."

She gave a small smile and began to explain. "When there are a lot of people I don't seem to be able to tell one person's feelings from another one's. It feels chaotic and confuses me. I try to shut it out as much as possible."

"Interesting. So I'll be quite safe from getting my hair pink as long as I'm not alone with you."

"If you think so." She smirked. "Is that all for now?"

"If you want me to be honest, no. But I'm afraid my hair would turn pink instantly if you had bewitched it with this naughty spell of yours… Not that you'd need telling. Other than that…"

"Bye, Severus," she said, throwing a smile in his direction, opened the door and out she was.

"See you."

Severus shook his head at himself, when the door had fallen shut. This woman made him act completely weird, made him say things he'd never say if it weren't for her distracting him so… so… Did she do that deliberately? This question simply kept popping up in his mind.

**Next chapter:**

Slytherin versus Hufflepuff. Sariss heads for something she shouldn't be heading for. Monsters, monsters, monsters, a Dementor—and Snape in a mint-green dress.


	17. To Know All The Answers

**Author's note: **Thanks for reviewing, **Butterfly**! I'm quite enjoying your comments on everything. It's also great fun to reply to them.

Chapter 16: To Know All The Answers

**_As you wish  
For kingdom come  
The one to know all the answers  
You think you dwell in wisdom's sea  
Still sweet ignorance is the key  
To a poet's paradise  
Challenge the Riddler and you will see..._**

_—Nightwish: The Riddler_

A Quidditch match was scheduled to take place a week after the Valentine dance. Hufflepuff would play against Slytherin.

Everyone was in high spirits as they headed for the Quidditch pitch. It promised to be an interesting game. The Slytherins might play unfair and thus score more often than the rather passive Hufflepuffs. Yet, it depended on who'd get the Snitch first. If the Hufflepuffs caught it before Slytherin was one hundred and fifty points in the lead… 

"The little Hufflepuff—what was his name again?"

"Snatch," provided Harry.

"Thanks. Snatch will give Malfoy a run for his money, won't he?" said Ron.

"Yes, he very well could beat Malfoy," agreed Ginny. "He almost beat you to the Snitch, didn't he, Harry?"

"I must admit the little one is extremely good. But if he has the guts to fly the way he did against us when he's facing Malfoy and a horde of Slytherins about thrice his size…"

"Welcome to today's Quidditch match," Owen Cauldwell's voice echoed through the stands, magically amplified by a Sonorus Charm Professor Flitwick had cast on the student. "It's Hufflepuff versus Slytherin! And we'll show them, won't we?"

Cheers and applause from the crowd.

"I can't hear you!"

Even louder cheers and applause rocked the stands. If it had been any louder, Harry would have had to see Madam Pomfrey to have his ears checked.

"And here they come! The Hufflepuff team! Hey, good luck, guys! You'll show those big brutes—Sorry, Professor." He didn't sound sorry in the least. "Those er… well… Slytherins what it feels like to be beaten by a Hufflepuff! Well, there they are, lining up on their half of the pitch: "Branstone, Madley, Whitby, Derek, Moon, O'Leary and Snatch! William Snatch has already proved against Gryffindor that he's a force to be reckoned with. Aren't you, Will?"

Even from this distance, Harry could see that the small figure that was William Snatch was blushing deep crimson. It clashed horribly with his yellow Quidditch robes. 

"Oh, and there's the Slytherins. No need to point out that Seeker and Captain Malfoy seems to have gathered the biggest—." Cauldwell didn't sound remotely as enthusiastic as he had when he had announced the Hufflepuff team. "Well, there's the Snitch. The Captains shake hands… Madam Hooch is going to start the game… And off they are."

The Slytherins were really about twice the size of the Hufflepuffs. Especially little Will Snatch looked even smaller than he actually was when he swerved past one of them on his Firebolt II. 

Malfoy had risen high above the pitch and flew in circles, scanning the area for a glimpse of the Snitch. As of yet, it was nowhere to be seen. The February sun didn't make it very much easier either. Everywhere there were sparkles from the watches and glasses of students and teachers.

"Oh no! That must have hurt! Whitby can hardly stay on his broom there as he loses the Quaffle to Yagher—and O'Leary's hit by a Bludger as Miles enters the scoring area… Slytherin scores. 0-10."

Still no sign of the Snitch. Harry watched the Seekers closely. Both were circling the pitch high up in the air on opposite sides.

"And Slytherin scores again—That was foul play, Madam Hooch! That goal mustn't count!" And it had indeed been foul play. Hufflepuff were awarded a penalty and scored. It was now 10-10 and Cauldwell said so.

After that, the Slytherins' foul play became a bit less obvious but nonetheless very effective. They stole the Quaffle from Eleanor Branstone as she dodged a Bludger, hit the two Bludgers at Moon who could hardly avoid the first one and was slammed into by the second one, thus dropping the Quaffle. On and on it went that way. The Hufflepuffs were flattened; they didn't stand a chance.

Cauldwell's magically amplified voice sounded less and less enthusiastic and more and more agitated about the fact that his house team was taken apart.

After only slightly more than fifteen minutes, the score was 20-140. A hopeless score. Only catching the Snitch in the next few minutes would save the Hufflepuffs. And there was still no sign of it.

"20-150," Cauldwell sighed. "Don't go down without a fight there! Come on, don't make it _that_ easy for them!"

But they couldn't stand up against their opponents. Another goal. 20-160 it was now.

"Rather pointless now," Hermione said. "One more goal from the Slytherins and it won't matter who catches the Snitch. They might as well end the game right now."

"'Mione, those aren't the rules," Ron pointed out.

"I know that, Ron. Stupid rule, really. When there's no way for one team to catch up on the other anymore. This could get on for days."

"Malfoy would only catch the Snitch if it flew directly into his sleeve. Deliberately, mind you," Ginny said. "So I'd say that Slytherin win, but Snatch—."

"Wait a second. There's the Snitch," Harry said at the same time as Cauldwell's anxious voice could be heard saying the same. "And Snatch has seen it."

"Go, Will, go! Catch it now! Come on!" The Snitch was hovering in the middle of the pitch, hovering a few feet over a Hufflepuff Chaser who was hit by a Bludger aimed at him by Goyle. The Hufflepuff dropped the Quaffle and it was immediately taken by a Slytherin who then went off in direction of the hoops.

Malfoy—just like Snatch—was speeding towards the little glint of gold. It would be a close shave. That much was obvious. Both on Firebolts, they were equals. But Snatch was smaller and lighter, too, and thus a bit faster than Malfoy. It might just be the crucial bit…

The small yellow blotch that was Will Snatch was closing in on the Snitch. 

Harry moved the Omnioculars to his eyes. They were best to use when you had a point to concentrate on. And now that point were the two Seekers, soaring about the Quidditch pitch at breakneck speed.

The crowd had gone all quiet, watching expectantly how the Seekers moved in on the Snitch. Even Cauldwell held his breath whereas tiny Professor Flitwick clambered onto his seat to see better since the people in front of him had stood up. Over in the Hufflepuff part of the stands, Professor Sprout had done the same, cheering on her house team's Seeker. Professor Ravon watched the Seekers rush past the Slytherin stands. So did Snape, although the expression in his face wasn't anywhere near the excitement that lingered on Professor Ravon's.

The Seekers reached out—.

"Snatch's got the Snitch! I don't believe it!" Owen Cauldwell yelled exuberantly. "That makes the total score 170 to 160. Hufflepuff win! Hufflepuff defeat Slytherin! Hurrah! That'll teach you not to mess with a Hufflepuff!"

It was unbelievable. For a moment, stunned silence hung heavily over the Quidditch pitch. It was as if time had stopped completely. Then, very slowly, someone started clapping, others joined in, and in a couple of seconds the stands rocked with applause… Well, three fourths of the stands. The Slytherins were in a state of shock that was, however, quickly replaced by the anger they usually reserved for the Gryffindors.

"And what a close shave that was, Will. Did you do that deliberately? A few seconds longer and Pritchard would have surely scored once more! Whoohoo! What a catch! Oh happy day!"

Professor Sprout was jumping up and down on her seat. If she hadn't climbed onto it, Harry would only have seen the tip of her hat when the Professor jumped up, clapping and laughing as though Christmas and Easter magically had happened to be on the same day. She was surrounded by equally happy Hufflepuffs who were also jumping and clapping.

"Professor Sprout's happier than the whole Hufflepuff team put together."

"It's not every day that Hufflepuff defeats Slytherin," Ginny said. "That confirms it. We'll get the Cup again."

"Hasn't happened since 1946—and that was only because Slytherin had to forfeit," Hermione said.

Ron looked at her in awe. "Miss Granger, you never cease to impress me."

"Thank you, Mr Weasley, that was exactly what I intended. I swear I'll never confuse a Wronski Feint with a Wonky Faint or something like that again."

"I should hope not," Ron winced. "That would be too much to take."

"Let's go back into the castle. There'll be a party in the Great Hall, I'm sure. And it'll soon be lunchtime, too," Ginny said.

"It'll be one hell of a party," Harry said.

Hand in hand they walked slowly back towards the castle, Ron and Hermione trailing after them, still talking about the look on Malfoy's face when he had realized that Pritchard hadn't yet scored when Snatch had caught the Snitch.

Oh yes, Malfoy would be exceptionally furious. Not to mention Snape. The man might be used to losing against Gryffindor by now… But being beaten by a Hufflepuff—that must be exceptionally hard to take.

For Harry it would have been.

And sure enough, at entering the castle and heading for the Great Hall, the Slytherin team rushed past them to sit down at their table, and Malfoy muttered through clenched teeth, "Defeated by that little Hufflepuff brat who can hardly mount a broomstick properly. I don't believe it. He'll pay for this. One day he'll pay." 

"What's up, Malfoy? Can't stand losing, can you?" Ron asked, a satisfied grin on his face. 

Malfoy stopped dead in his tracks and turned to face the Gryffindors, Crabbe, Goyle and the rest of the team behind him.

"Ron, don't. I don't think this is a good idea right now…" Hermione tried to hold him back. Malfoy was not in a state to be messed with right now. He was boiling with anger and humiliation. 

But Ron took too much pleasure in having one over his archenemy to shut up now. 

"Better get used to it," he said. "We'll wipe the smirk off of your face even more thoroughly when you're up against us."

"Then you'd better watch your back, Weasley. How would you play if you were… for example… one Keeper short?"

"Is that a threat, Malfoy?"

"Malfoys don't utter threats. They make vows."

"Then that's not much of a problem. You break your vows all the time, don't you?"

"Don't you have places to be?" Professor Ravon had arrived, sounding not pleased. If that was because Slytherin had lost or because she wanted to interfere before the situation escalated and hexes were being hurled through the Hall, Harry couldn't tell. "I heard a rumour about celebrations and what do I see? Quarrelling Gryffindors and Slytherins. Some things never change, do they? And you're blocking the doorway," she stated, suspiciously eyeing the two rival parties and glowering especially at Malfoy whom she—mildly spoken—didn't like very much. In fact, she had been displaying an immense dislike towards him ever since he made her lose it, and even before that, she hadn't seemed especially fond of him—which was rather strange, considering that Professor Ravon was a Slytherin, too.

"Now get to the places you belong before Professor Snape sees you loitering around here. He's not pleased with the current situation. Not pleased at all." She looked pointedly at Malfoy who cringed a bit, although he was taller than Professor Ravon. "So if I were you I'd get lost as soon as I hear his footsteps, which is what I most certainly will do—for the time being. I advise you to do the same—Gryffindors and Slytherins alike… And Mr Malfoy, there are to be uttered no threats towards other students in here. As if the circumstances weren't grave enough outside these walls…" She suddenly looked like Professor McGonagall did when she was particularly agitated. "And only because of a lost match! As if there weren't more important things aplenty to occupy your minds with!" 

Professor Ravon exhaled sharply. "Neither of you will be taken away any points as it wouldn't be punishment if both of your houses lost the same amount, now would it?" she said, looking over her shoulder as happily chattering voices could be heard. "And now make some room for the Hufflepuffs." 

She turned to walk past them but stopped and looked back once more. "If any news about an incident involving a few serious duelling hexes hitting, say, for example, certain Hufflepuff or Gryffindor students, reaches my ears, I'll know who it was; and the respective person will be collecting Bubotuber pus for the rest of their education here—same goes for anyone who should try and provoke a Slytherin to do what's necessary to _earn_ his or her detention. And _I_ tend to keep my vows."

With that, she swished away towards the high table, whereas the assembled students, finally overcoming their stunned silence, went to sit at their respective tables, as the jubilant Hufflepuff team entered the Great Hall, carrying little Will Snatch—who was blushing deeply crimson but smiling all over his face—all the way to his seat.

Among shouts of applause and praise and pats on his shoulders that almost made him fall over, the small boy finally managed to sit down. There hadn't been so much laughter at the Hufflepuff table since the day Cedric Diggory had been chosen as Hogwarts' Triwizard champion.

And Professor Sprout who was already sitting at the high table had drawn Professor Ravon into a conversation. Both of them were gesturing wildly and—strange enough—laughing and smiling, although Professor Ravon should have been a Slytherin supporter, shouldn't she? Well, Harry supposed, that she could take a fair defeat better than certain other people… One of which was just entering the Great Hall through a hidden entrance behind the high table. 

Professor Snape. Stony-faced and silent as he sat down on his seat next to Ravon who noted his presence curtly and greeted him before returning to her lively conversation with Professor Sprout, who excused herself after another few minutes to chatter away with Dumbledore who had arrived in the meantime.

That left Professor Ravon free to talk only to Snape, which she did. A quite polite conversation it looked like, rather stiff, almost staged, as though every word had to be carefully considered—which they probably were.

Hadn't Professor Ravon said something along the lines that she'd rather avoid Snape when he was in his current moody state? Yet they were conversing civilly—quite an achievement when one had seen or heard them arguing about Merlin knew what. The most recent fairly agitated _discussion_ that had been overheard had been about whether fluxweed was best picked on the first night or the second night of the full moon. Harry couldn't see what difference that could possibly make—but apparently, it did make a difference. 

Anyway, they never seemed to be of the same opinion, always discussing—if they talked to each other at all… And although they were both wearing expressions on their faces that could hardly be read, it was clear that for once they weren't arguing…

The two Professors must have agreed on some sort of a truce. Harry idly wondered if Dumbledore had something to do with all of this—of course, he would.

**~*~*~**

"I can't believe it," Severus muttered. "Beaten by Hufflepuff House. That hasn't happened for decades."

"We almost won, _Professor Snape_," Sariss said, emphasizing his name as they officially weren't on a first name basis. "A few more seconds would have been enough for a draw and then…" she trailed off. "The little one was just faster. He almost beat Potter to the Snitch. What made you think that he couldn't beat Malfoy, too?"

"Slytherin never lost against Hufflepuff when playing Quidditch. We had to forfeit once or twice in history because of circumstances beyond our control—but something like that never happened before. I could—."

"Calm down. It's only a game."

"It's not only a game. You do realize that for quite some time Slytherin won't see the end of this? It's a matter of dignity."

Sariss had the nerve to chuckle at that. "Dignity. It most certainly has nothing to do with dignity. It would if you'd accept a defeat as well as a victory—which you don't. I'm not sure if I've ever seen a worse loser—or winner for that matter—than you. Why might that be?"

"I can't stand losing. Least of all when I expected a glorious triumph."

Sariss raised her eyebrows. "Glorious triumph? I'd rather call it a bloodbath, considering the fact that the whole Hufflepuff team have been hit by either one of the Bludgers and roundabout all Slytherin broomstick handles numerous times—and you enjoyed every single time that happened."

"Don't tell me you didn't. After all, it gave us an advantage," Severus said simply, "and it wasn't even against the rules… At least not explicitly—although some other things were."

"Like smashing into your opponent and then claiming he had appeared out of thin air, for example?" she drawled, a grin tugging at the corners of her mouth.

Severus smirked. "Something like that."

"And it worked too. A poor but nonetheless very effective excuse. Remarkable how we Slytherins always manage to wriggle out of it, isn't it?"

"Quite so. But we lost anyway."

"Well, there's at least one other person who took it even harder than you… Who will indeed not see the end of this for quite some time."

"If I'm not mistaken, you're talking about Mr Malfoy."

"Indeed, yes. He's in a particularly vindictive mood, even more than usual. I could sense him even though there was a bunch of people standing around him. I almost thought he'd draw his wand and hex Mr Weasley."

"Weasley? Doesn't know when to keep his mouth shut, does he?"

"The boy doesn't get one over Malfoy often. Have you never noticed that Malfoy knows exactly where to aim to hit his fellow students hardest when he feels like doing so? I can't seem to understand why he does that. In every human being, there should be at least a tiny spark that decides between what's acceptable and what's not. In general, that's called a sense of decency. But I've never heard something helpful or even friendly coming from a Malfoy. So why are you so… er… so fond of the boy? That's something I can't tell."

"It's good to have connections. Being on good terms with the Malfoys under the current political circumstances could prove useful."

"You realize that, when that family falls—and I'm saying _when_ not _if_, mind you—they'll take with them a great part of wizarding society?"

"Yes," Severus said slowly.

**Careful. She's heading for something she shouldn't be heading for.**

"You also realize that it could prove to be a mistake to be on such good terms with that family?"

"You never liked them, did you?" He tried to sound casual. This was not a safe topic for conversation.

"I never had a reason to. Never received a single nice word from them—how about you?"

"No nice word."

"Then why are you trying so hard to be on good terms with them?" she asked.

Severus hesitated. Yes, why? He could hardly tell her it was a necessary evil for keeping up the pretence, could he? How was he to express it in a way that wouldn't mean lying to her and yet avoid telling the truth? 

"Information," he said finally. "It's good to know what's going on. And they know."

"Of course, they would. But why would they provide you with information… unless—," she broke off. "_Professor_, you're not… not… a…" Her voice dropped to a whisper. He almost had to read her lips to understand. "You haven't joined the Death Eaters again, have you? Please tell me you haven't."

She was looking at him as if she thought he'd get very, very angry, bracing herself for what she feared would be coming from him, what he'd say or do—or in her case, even _feel_. And Severus's first thought was indeed to refuse to answer, to shout at her to keep out of things that weren't—at least not directly—her business. But she was looking at him with bated breath, unblinking. "Please," she mouthed.

"I'm not a Death Eater, Sariss," he replied gravely. It was no lie, not really; and he deliberately used her first name, although he never used it in public when they might be overheard by students with 'connections'. Hidden by the tablecloth he reached for Sariss's hand. It was much colder than it had been down at the Quidditch pitch. "I am not a Death Eater," Snape repeated and added, "Just trust me."

"I trust no one, Severus," she sighed and shook her head. "It's safer not to. Not even myself. I'm sorry." She made to slip her hand out of his, but he wouldn't have that.

He could have stood up and left when she said she didn't trust him. In most cases, he would have. But not when there was so much despair and sadness in her voice. After all she hadn't said, 'I can't' or 'I don't trust _you_.' She simply trusted no one. Perhaps it was better that way…

"Considering the time you grew up in and the things you've seen, I can hardly blame you," Severus said softly. "It might save your life one day."

"But I can try," she whispered, squeezing his hand briefly, before quickly drawing it away, since Dumbledore was coming towards them, smiling broadly.

"What a game that was!" he exclaimed. "Very exciting!"

"Rub it in, please," Severus muttered sarcastically.

"Mr Snatch—what appropriate a name, by the way—Mr Snatch shows quite some talent. Another year and the Hufflepuffs will have Charlie Weasley and Harry Potter combined. Merlin knows that house deserves it, subdued as they had been ever since the death of Mr Diggory. They'll be celebrating all afternoon in here and if I'm not mistaken their party will surely go on in their common room. I really should inform the house-elves to prepare some extra food. They'll sneak into the kitchen anyway… Isn't it nice to have everyone in high spirits?" Dumbledore smiled kindly down at Sariss. The old man cared so much about her. Severus idly wondered if she was aware of that.

"Very," Sariss smiled back. And it was a real smile, despite the fact that Slytherin had lost. Her loyalty towards her former house apparently didn't include the Quidditch Cup—or the House Cup, for that matter. It was a completely new experience for Severus that a Slytherin didn't care about things like that, didn't care about the obvious, about what was visible to others, the surface… 

**She's not as superficial as one might think.**

_I don't know what she is. I think I'll never understand her. I'll never understand why she wants to be with me as much as I want to be with her. I'll never understand what makes her who she is._

**You don't even know who she really is.**

_Want me to let you in on something?_

**Yes, please.**

_Frankly, I can't seem to care about who she is, anymore. She is who she is—and she's here._

**You're quite right about that—. Are we heading for something along the lines of 'A rose by any other name still smells sweet' or so?**

_Comparing her with a rose might just be appropriate…_

**Why is that?**

_She's exactly like a rose, now that I think about it… And she certainly does have thorns, too. Razor-sharp ones if she wants them to be that way…_

**Interesting assumption.**

_I think I'm in love._

**Quite understandable. Quite a lady you've caught yourself there… But, now that I've had some time to think about this whole situation, I don't think it's a good thing anymore. And I've been telling you this for weeks! **

_You didn't. At least not recently._

**Damn it! Why can't you listen? **

_I did. You simply stopped reminding me. On the contrary._

**It's not good for you to fall in love with anyone—.**

_I don't care anymore._

**This will end even worse than the last time you fell in love.**

_I'll take the risk. And it doesn't have to be that way every time. It simply cannot. Not even for me. Not even Severus Snape could be so unlucky._

**I can only hope you're right.**

M_e too._

**~*~*~**

The Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom looked quite different, when the seventh years entered it for their lesson on the Thursday after the match. Harry noted that the desk had been pushed back not quite against the walls so that they formed some sort of a half circle. There was still room to sit behind them, which the students did after having exchanged some glances with their friends.

Professor Ravon must have done that because she needed room for her lesson. Would they be revising something today or would it be another wandless magic or duelling lesson?

"Let's sit down, shall we?" Hermione said. "Looks like Professor Ravon's a bit late."

But they had hardly sat down when Professor Ravon swept into the room, carrying a large box that looked quite heavy—in one hand. She set the box down in the middle of the room.

"Today's lesson will be a revising lesson. As you're going to leave school soon, I thought it appropriate to brush up on the Boggart lesson with you to make sure you can take care of that problem should you be moving into an old magnificent house and find one of the little fellows lurking in the cupboard or under the staircase. They like dark and cosy places," she explained and patted the top of the box. "This one wanted to take permanent residence in a kitchen cupboard. The Elves were terrified. You have no idea what and which people they're afraid of…" 

Then she walked back to her desk, sat on the edge of it and cleared her throat.

"You should be able to face a Boggart rather effortlessly by now. Of course, it depends on what your greatest fear is. But you should have encountered them around your second or third year and be prepared for whatever they turn into when you face them—unless, of course, your fears have changed since then. You never know…" she trailed off. "Does everybody remember what to do when facing one?" Some of the students nodded slightly; others didn't react. "Well then, would one of you be so kind as to tell the others: What are you supposed to do when you come across a Boggart?"

Hermione's hand shot up—as always. So did Harry's. And Ron raised his hand too. Even Neville…

Ravon scanned the assembled students. "Yes? Mr Pierson?" she said.

"When it turns into something that it knows will scare us, we must imagine something funny happening to it and use the Riddikulus spell."

"Very good. Take five points for Slytherin for this. It's always a good idea to make fun of something that's by no means something to laugh about should you face it in reality, isn't it? Improves your self-confidence. Now let's start the practical part of the lesson. I think the Slytherins should go first."

She opened the lid of the box and then quickly retreated, so as not to let the Boggart see her, Harry assumed.

"One by one, please, so it doesn't get too confused—yet. Miss O'Hara, if you'd be so kind as to begin?"

Reluctantly, the girl stepped forward and the Boggart jumped out of the box. It had turned into a masked man holding a Muggle gun. Many wizards feared Muggle weapons. Actually, all those who had ever seen those weapons in action feared them. They killed faster than a spell.

O'Hara steeled herself for a moment and then shouted "Riddikulus!" Harry wasn't sure if it had worked. The figure's appearance hadn't changed at all. 

And then it pulled the trigger…

But instead of a big bang and a bullet, a little flag came out of the barrel. It said 'BANG!" and the figure looked around in confusion.

"Next, quickly!" Professor Ravon shouted.

For Crabbe, it turned into a zombie, then it became a large dog, looking similar to a grim, but growling and charging, blood dripping from its lips.

Then it was a Harpy for Pansy Parkinson, then a Manticore, then a Chimaera.

Millicent Bulstrode made a swarm of vicious crows that wanted to peck her eyes out lose their feathers so they fell to the ground helplessly. They turned into a swarm of very large hornets next, and then assembled themselves back into one single shape.

A Runespoor was raising its three heads high over the assembled students and at the shout of "Riddikulus!" the heads turned to each other and started to argue about whether they should eat now or later—of course, only Harry could understand what their conversation was about.

Professor Ravon smirked. One could almost get the impression that she understood it, too…

"Mr Malfoy, would you be so kind?" Ravon gestured.

Malfoy slowly sauntered towards the beast.

"Get a move on," the Professor hissed—the air was prickling again—thus wiping the smirk off his face.

As the Runespoor-Boggart laid its six eyes on Malfoy, it began to shrink in size. Its three heads disappeared, and soon enough a figure every one of the assembled people knew fairly well stood in the centre of the room.

Mad-Eye Moody. In all his splendour.

And he pointed his wand at Malfoy.

Why would he be afraid of Moody? Harry asked himself, puzzled. 

But there was his voice (and it too sounded like the original), "Want to play the bouncing ferret again, do you?" it said, and Malfoy blanched as the Moody-Boggart's wand sent a curse in his direction. The boy wasn't quick enough. He was hit by the curse. Harry almost expected to see the bouncing ferret performance again—and the priceless look on Malfoy's face clearly displayed that he, too, had feared exactly that—but it wasn't possible. A Boggart couldn't perform any real spells. It had no magic of its own save for the ability to change shape.

Malfoy must have realized that too since he overcame his initial panic rather quickly—and Ron cursed under his breath, saying something along the lines of, "Dammit! I'd so have loved to see it again."

Well, if Ron wanted to see a ferret, he got his wish—although it was not Malfoy who became small and hairy. It was Moody-Boggart who had to see the world from a completely different point of view. The ferret point of view. 

It ran in circles, looking around in confusion, unable to decide whom it should scare next. "Miss Granger, would you take over, please?" Professor Ravon asked, backing off a little or so it seemed. It was as if she avoided the Boggart's line of sight…

"And quickly."

Hermione took over, clearly remembering the last time she had faced her worst fear: that Professor McGonagall told her she'd failed everything. Harry wondered if she had already an idea how to make the strict Professor look funny.

And sure as that, as Hermione stepped forwards, drawing the Boggart-Moody's—or rather the Boggart-Moody-ferret's—attention on her, it changed into Professor McGonagall with a loud crack and began telling Hermione that she was absolutely not talented and couldn't do any proper magic if her life depended on it. Somehow, this was more terrifying than Harry had thought it could have been. But fact was that everyone saw exactly what Hermione must have seen in their third year exam: A Professor McGonagall who threw all the things in her face that poor Hermione had always dreaded. It was so very unlike Professor McGonagall. 

But apparently, Hermione had steeled herself, since she shouted, "Riddikulus!" and McGonagall's wand, which she'd been waving around and gesturing with it and doing perfect transfigurations, started emitting smoke and showered violet and golden sparks; it looked like a Dr Filibuster firework. 

The Boggart-McGonagall turned away and Hermione stepped back again, receiving a nod from Professor Ravon.

"Well done, Hermione," Ron said and Hermione smiled at him.

For Lavender, McGonagall turned into a rat, and then a bloody eyeball, staring blankly, and after that it was a rattlesnake that was soon replaced by a bloodstained and bandaged mummy that entangles itself in one of its unravelling bandages as it made for Parvati, thus falling forwards and hitting the floor with a great thud, its head rolling off.

Then it turned into a woman with floor-length black hair and a not exactly healthy colour of skin. As she opened her mouth wide, the unearthly wail of a banshee filled the room, making Harry's hair stand on end. Thankfully, Seamus made her lose her voice fairly quickly. 

Then it was something fairly small again. A severed hand, crawling over the floor like a crab, leaving a trail of blood behind. It got caught in a mousetrap.

Then it was Ron's turn. Harry knew what was supposed to come now. None of the fears had changed since Professor Lupin's lesson. That's why Harry assumed that they'd get to see another impression of Aragog, the giant spider. And he was not disappointed. The spider was huge, six feet tall, very black and very hairy. The girls started screaming and even Professor Ravon gulped at the sight of its clicking and slobbering pincers.

As Ron yelled the incantation, it lost its legs again so it couldn't creep around anymore. It was the way spiders moved that Ron couldn't stand. 

"Mr Longbottom. Please."

Crack! There was Professor Snape standing in the middle of the room—and he looked really angry.

Neville gulped, but then he gathered his courage and stepped forwards, like a true Gryffindor. "Riddikulus!" he yelled in a voice as firm as ever possible. And Snape-Boggart was forced into Neville's grandmother's green, lace-trimmed dress and the infamous hat with the stuffed vulture on top.

The whole class burst out laughing—all except Neville that is. But since even Professor Ravon was highly amused at that and sniggered behind her hand, Neville relaxed a bit. As she lowered her hand, she pressed her lips into a thin line and tried to apply a serious expression to her face again, which was not quite as serious as it was supposed to be. "Mr Longbottom," she asked in-between small giggles, "does Professor Snape know about _this_?"

Neville coughed and shuffled his feet uncomfortably, but smiled nonetheless because of the Professor's apparent amusement. "Er… unfortunately he does."

"I can quite understand why you're still scared of him then," she said, successfully suppressing another fit of the giggles. "Next please. Mr Potter?"

Harry stepped forward and the Boggart turned its attention towards him, eyeing him for a moment and then it slowly grew in size until a black-clad hooded figure stood in the middle of the room. 

A Dementor. 

Coldness penetrated Harry, the voices of his parents becoming audible again. The other students had retreated and pressed themselves to the walls, some of them sinking to their knees at the sudden change of atmosphere in the room. The fake Dementor was as bad as a real one…

Professor Ravon had not moved an inch. As she had been leaning casually against her desk, it wasn't even possible for her to retreat discreetly. She had become very white, every bit of colour that had graced her cheeks moments before was gone. The blood had drained even from her lips. The smile that had tugged at the corners of her mouth had completely vanished. She seemed unable to breathe properly and she, like everyone else, stared at the thing, shaking.

Harry searched his brain for a very happy moment… and found Ginny. Ginny as she'd blushed, when they had kissed under the mistletoe; Ginny as she'd thrown her arms around him when he had asked her for a date; Ginny as she smiled up at him, her hair spread all over the pillow, gleaming in all shades of red and gold and copper, when they had made love for the first time…

Ginny.

"Expecto Patronum!" Harry shouted, and a strand of silvery mist emanated from his wand, taking the form of a magnificent, silvery animal, a stag, James Potter's Animagus form.

It reared and charged at the Boggart-Dementor that then bowed its head and turned away from Harry in fear, hurrying towards its box.

"Beautiful," Professor Ravon said weakly, still looking much shaken at the experience with the Dementor.

Harry's Patronus hadn't yet dissolved. It just stood there and looked at the Professor who was staring back.

_Weird._

She took a few steps towards it, reached up and touched the stag's head almost as though she wanted to stroke it. Her hand passed through it since it wasn't solid, but silvery sparkles danced over her as she stared at it in awe. The Patronus took a step backwards, seemed to tilt its head as though it wanted to take a closer look, then it shook its head and returned to Harry's side where it dissolved into thin air again. 

Professor Ravon had a look on her face like a child in a toyshop, a broad genuine smile on her once more pink lips. Then she clutched her head for a moment, massaging her temples. After having taken a deep breath, she was all business again. "That was quite a Patronus," she said softly. "_Awesome_, Mr Potter. You must have had a very good teacher—and a very happy memory…"

The Boggart meanwhile had become very dizzy and began to change shape randomly, not knowing which monster he should turn into. 

Heading towards her desk where she began rummaging around in a drawer, Professor Ravon asked, "If you would like to finish the Boggart off, Miss O'Hara?"

"Riddikulus!" the girl shouted and the Boggart exploded into thousands of pieces that dissolved into little wisps of smoke.

Some of the students looked still a bit shaken because of the Dementor that had suddenly stood in the middle of the room. Professor Ravon pulled a large bar of Honeydukes chocolate out of one of the drawers in her desk and began handing out pieces of it to everyone. "No one shall say I didn't take care of my students. Least of all Madam Pomfrey. There you are, Mr Zabini. Miss Brown? Here's a very large one for you. You look like you could use it," she said and then had her own chunk of chocolate and munched vigorously.

Especially Ron looked a bit green around the gills although that may only have been because of his typical Weasley complexion. "You could have warned us before you faced that thing, Harry." He shoved the chocolate into his mouth. "Nex' 'ime you 'ave 'o fashe a Boggar' make sure I lef'." He swallowed the chocolate. "Got it?"

"Sorry, didn't think of it," Harry muttered apologetically. 

"Alright then. House points!" Professor Ravon announced. "Five points for everyone who faced the Boggart and defeated it. And an additional five points for Mr Potter, who showed us the most beautiful Patronus that I've ever seen, and five points for Miss O'Hara for finishing our late wardrobe occupant off. And also an additional five points to Mr Longbottom for improving the mood in here considerably by having such an entertaining greatest fear—." She grinned suddenly, but quickly plastered the usual serious expression on her face again. "Well, at least until we had a look at fear itself… I'd like you to write an essay on your greatest fear and either how you'd overcome it when facing it in reality, or how it came to be your greatest fear and/or how you faced it. Twelve inches should do, but don't write too large—_or else_." At that, she threw a glance at the students. Ron quickly looked away. "Class dismissed. See you again next Monday."

"Professor Ravon, why didn't you face the Boggart and finish him off yourself?" Stella O'Hara asked when she passed Professor Ravon's desk. Some students, including Harry, Ron and Hermione stopped to listen to her answer. "What would it have turned into for you?"

"You don't want to know. But I can assure you: You wouldn't find any sleep tonight if I had faced it. That's why I let you take care of it, Miss O'Hara. You did very well."

"Thank you, Professor… But… what would it have been?"

"You are a curious lot, aren't you?" she asked. Then she grew very serious. "Imagine the worst nightmare you ever had. Then multiply it numerous times with itself. My greatest fear is the greatest evil the wizarding world has seen in a hundred years. And the effect of it isn't cured as easily as with a piece of dark chocolate."

"Voldemort?" Harry asked without thinking.

Professor Ravon looked directly into his eyes with those strange eyes of hers. Harry blinked a few times. Something still seemed not quite right. They weren't supposed to look like that, were they? Definitely not. Something wasn't right… That feeling had grown stronger each passing lesson.

Their colour! That was it. It had puzzled him all this time. He knew instinctively that her eyes were supposed to look different from what they did actually look like, but what they were supposed to look like or why he knew that… he had no idea. It was a thought even more elusive than a dream you have when you're already awakening.

"Yes," she said slowly. "Lord Voldemort—or at least I believe it would turn into him. I can't think of anything that would scare me more than that pair of red eyes staring back at me. Not even the Dementor."

The few students who had stayed behind were totally silent as though they didn't even dare to breathe too loud in case the Dark Lord would materialize right in front of them. Twice his name had been mentioned. The name no one dared to utter, no one with the exception of a few people.

"And I'm afraid I can't find anything remotely funny about that thing that the Dark Lord has become—not even if he wore Granny Longbottom's mint-green dress," she said, sarcastic.

That was something Harry could very well understand. He had faced the Dark Lord several times already and none of it had had anything funny about it. One could simply not laugh at Voldemort. And if you tried, you'd choke on that laughter.

"Well, go on. Out. You'll be late if you keep loitering around here," she said lightly, but Harry could hear that it cost her quite much to sound remotely that way. "Have a nice day." She ushered them out of the classroom as though they were fourth or fifth years.

When they were walking away from the classroom, Ron asked, "Have you ever seen something like that? What happened when she touched Prongs, Harry? What were those sparkles?"

Harry shook his head and shrugged. "No idea. Strange, wasn't it?"

"I think I'll—," Hermione began.

"Stop. Let me guess… Go to the library? Again?"

"Sure. I mean there certainly are books about the Patronus spell there. It should be possible to find a book about strange events that can occur when a Patronus touches someone who has… I don't know… special abilities or characteristics."

"Special abilities or characteristics? Please!"

"One word: Inkbottle." 

"But that happens to us all sometimes."

"But not like that," Harry joined the conversation. "The ink was boiling. That's what made the glass shatter. I saw it. It didn't just explode all of a sudden. It was a chain reaction."

"And the candles flicker when she walks past, haven't you noticed?"

"I always thought that was just because of her habit of… well… kind of swishing through the corridors."

"Possible. But it's strange nonetheless. I mean when Snape rushes through the corridors with billowing robes, it doesn't happen. At least they don't flicker that badly. And his 'swishing' as you put it is worse at times—well, when he's not moving so silently that he's suddenly breathing down your neck."

"And her hands are so cold. Not just cold—icy. When she handed me my essay the other day, I accidentally brushed her hand with my fingertips and she was so cold although the fire was burning high, almost a little too hot for my taste. That can't be normal. I mean I could almost feel the warmth seeping out of me."

"If you need me…"

"Library," Ron and Harry said as one.

"You do realize, that sometimes the answer cannot be found in the library, do you?" Ron asked.

"And you do realize that sometimes the answer _can_ be found in the library?" Hermione asked back. "Do I have to point out the many occasions when—?"

"I don't want to intrude here," Harry began. "But can the two of you for once let a day end without arguing?"

"We weren't," Hermione said.

"Yeah, we just had an intense conversation."

"A discussion."

"A discussion that got a bit out of control."

"A rather heated discussion then?" Harry provided with a grin tugging at his mouth by now.

"Yes," they said in unison.

**Next chapter:**

Severus takes Sariss down to the dungeons, a lot of snogging, a lesson in Portkey-making and a few suspicions…


	18. Live My Life Extended

**Author's note: Butterfly! **One of my most faithful reviewers! By now I'm convinced that you'll never let me down. Thank you for accompanying me on this journey.   
Thank you, **jenna**. It's great that you found the time to review. We writers are always incredibly happy when we notice that we're actually being READ.   
And thanks to **In Silent Lucidity**. Long time no see. Good you found your way back to my story. Even my muse was happy to see a familiar name on the reviews page. ;-)   
And last but not least: **Blaise**! Your reviews always make me grin like a complete idiot/maniac/lunatic in addition to making me feel special as hell. *cuddles to death* Of course you may borrow anything you like from me—well, anything except my muses. ;-)   
Oh, and as this story has Blaise Zabini as a boy, I'd like to point out that according to the German as well as the French versions of the books, _Blaise Zabini is a girl_. Those are languages that actually show what you're dealing with. My mistake. I'd read too much fanfiction before I got to the Zabini parts in this story. *hides* So, my deepest apologies to everybody, especially my sister-in-heart Blaise.   
Should I go back and change that?

Chapter 17: Live My Life Extended

**_You could be my unintended  
Choice to live my life extended  
You could be the one I'll always love_**

_—Muse: Unintended_

Sariss was on her way to breakfast the day following the Boggart lesson. It was a bit early for her taste, but she thought she might as well walk about the grounds until breakfast would be served. She simply couldn't fall asleep again when she had been woken by her own screams once more. Fortunately, she had a very amusing thought that could drive the memory of the dream back quickly. The Snape-Boggart. She still chuckled when she thought about Severus Snape (**Fiercely desirable Potions master!** _Shut up_!) in that awful mint green dress, the stuffed vulture-like creature on his head.

But there were also other things that had to do with him that made her disposition bearable. Those were their 'stolen moments'. Stolen, since they didn't have as much time on their hands to spend with each other as they would have liked. The fact that it was supposed to stay hidden and secret wasn't very constructive either. It robbed them of a gentle word here, a kiss or touch there…

"Up so early?" Sariss heard a very familiar voice when she walked across the Entrance Hall towards the still closed doors of the Great Hall. It was indeed a bit early for breakfast. Sariss could see that dawn was approaching when she chanced a look out the window.

"Couldn't sleep any more," she replied, walking towards him. "What are you doing up so early?"

"Couldn't sleep any more either. I thought I might as well develop the habit of prowling around the castle instead. The Dreamless Sleep Potion loses its effect all too quickly when you take it that often."

"You tell me."

"You look tired," he said, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. He really seemed to love doing that.

"I am. I haven't slept very much before I woke up for good."

"Nightmares, isn't it?" Sariss nodded. "Looks like the potion doesn't work on you anymore either."

Sariss shrugged. "For a few hours it does… How about you? You've looked tired for quite some time."

"I can cope. I always have."

"That sounds like something I could have said."

"Perhaps you have."

"Probably." She smirked.

"It's a bit strange to have a conversation in the middle of the Entrance Hall in the wee hours of the morning, don't you think?"

"It's not really the wee hours, Severus."

"Be that as it may, breakfast won't be even available for at least another hour or so…"

"Are you implying that we could move our conversation to a place that's more comfortable?"

"You catch on quickly. And as it happens to be, my rooms have been heated the last few days, so you'll be quite comfortable there. I hadn't even realized they were that cold before. But I guess I've grown accustomed to it."

"Well, what are we waiting for then? I'm very curious about your chambers. You've been guarding your hideout very thoroughly. Is your taste that bad?"

"I hope you find it not too horrifying," he drawled.

"I'm convinced that you have impeccable taste."

"Thank you very much."

"There's nothing to thank me for. I was only complimenting myself with that remark," she smiled mischievously before she rushed past him and down the staircase to the dungeons. 

Half way down he caught up with her. "Do you even have an idea where my rooms are?"

"Not really. I just got the impression that they must be down here somewhere."

"That's quite correct. But—you see—the entrance is very well hidden."

"I know. I've been a Slytherin, after all, and even we could never figure out where exactly it was that you lived, only that it must be somewhere near your office."

A smile spread across his face. "Students really do ponder where my rooms might be? Why is that?"

"We would have loved to play a little joke on you. It would have been very funny if we could have done it in your rooms. But unfortunately we had to use your office for it if you—."

"What kind of joke was that again?" he asked. Then the realization dawned on him. "It wasn't the one with all those—?" He shook his head. "It took me hours to get rid of them. Months later I still kept finding some I had missed."

Sariss could tell from his expression that he remembered exactly the joke she was referring to. "Yes," she grinned up at him.

"I should give you detention… Regard yourself as serving detention now," he smirked.

"Come on, it was funny. We had been collecting them for months on end. And thus, we made sure you had Every Flavour Beans aplenty. They must have lasted you for weeks."

"They might have if you hadn't sorted the edible ones out."

"That wasn't my idea."

"Sure it wasn't."

"I'm not _that_ evil."

"You're a wench—at times."

"And you're a—."

"Hold it. We're there."

They were standing in front of a wall, an empty wall, really not very far from his office. No portrait, no tapestry, nothing of that kind; only a grey cold stonewall. Nothing special. Sariss had walked past this wall hundreds of times when she had been a student here. The Slytherin common room wasn't that far from there. Only a few more minutes down the corridor and then left and then right again it was to the entrance—an equally blank wall.

"The wall over here? What's the password?"

"There is none. Give me your hand," he said. Sariss did so, jumping slightly when their hands met. 

_This tingling sensation is very annoying at moments like this._

**But there are moments when it's very pleasant, aren't there?**

_Shut it._

"Now watch and remember it well," he continued and placed the palm of her hand flat against the wall, guiding it over the smooth surface—but there was a stone that felt somehow different, so smooth that the others seemed rather crude in comparison with it.

"What's that?" Sariss asked although she could imagine his answer.

"You feel the difference?"

She nodded, her palm still resting on the stone. "It's smoother than the surrounding stones. What am I supposed to do to make it open up?"

"That," he replied, taking hold of her wrist and guiding her hand so that it slowly brushed over the stone's surface from left to right.

A faint rustling noise could be heard and a whole segment of the wall moved to the side, revealing another corridor at whose end Sariss could see a door.

Severus gestured for her to walk on. A rustling sound indicated that the wall closed after them. Sariss turned around to look at it and sure as that, there was not the slightest trace that there had ever been an opening.

"I just have to point out now that I am much more easily to find than you…"

"I don't find you easily. I find you lovely—pardon the pun."

Sariss smiled. "It was a good one. I've heard worse."

"Like?" he asked, knocking once at the door. "Only once."

"Not important… What happens when you knock more often?"

"It'll attack and eat you," he said in a dead serious voice.

Sariss involuntarily took a step back. She must have looked very horrified, since he quickly added, "Just kidding. The joke wasn't very good anyway."

"I wouldn't put anything beyond the furniture, doors and walls in this castle, especially when they're associated with the Slytherin part of it. I clearly remember—," she broke off as the door swung open, finally revealing Severus Snape's private chambers.

"That's—wow!" Sariss whispered in awe, still standing in the doorway, frozen to the spot.

"Come inside," he prompted.

"Oh, yes, right, thank you."

"Mi casa es su casa."

"It's nice."

"Yours can't be that bad, can they?" he mused. "Perhaps it wasn't such a bright idea to be after the DADA job all the time…"

Sariss chuckled. "No, it's not that. You just surprised me. It's…"

And Severus Snape's rooms were really of impeccable taste—well, at least they matched Sariss's taste quite well, although there were no windows in there. Instead of torches, there were some clouds of glowing mist hovering near the ceiling, throwing a gentle light on the whole room. It was as bright and soft as the light of day. The room was a bit like him. You had to look very closely to see the personality that had shaped its appearance.

There were shelves with books and jars and some peculiar stuff on them lining the walls. The floor was covered with a dark green carpet that muffled one's steps so much that they were almost inaudible. A desk was standing there, too. Much tidier than Sariss's desk it was. Too tidy. Almost empty.

_He must be working in his office quite a lot instead…_

There was a table and a pair of armchairs standing near the fireplace and some sort of sofa, a very comfortable looking sofa, also Slytherin green. 

The door to the adjacent room was open. The bedroom. Sariss could see the usual four-poster. Green hangings, just like hers.

_He certainly does like that colour. A true Slytherin._

**And you wore a dress in the same colour when you shared your first real kiss.**

_Now that you mention it… If I had known—._

**Your choice couldn't have been better.**

"I take your sudden silence as an approval," Severus's voice penetrated the silence after a while.

Sariss turned around to where he was casually leaning against the wall next to the door. "I sure do approve. It's a bit like I imagined, but at the same time it's not."

"What do you mean?"

"I had thought it would be darker, more dungeon-like, resembling in style the Slytherin common room… which it kind of does, don't get me wrong, but it's… I don't know… It looks cosy, like a home, although a home that hasn't been lived in for very long. Why is that so?" she added as an afterthought.

"It never felt like home before," he answered; his expression unreadable—and Sariss knew what it meant when that was so.

"I'm sorry. I provided the perfect starting line for a conversation along the lines of 'Home is where the heart is—and I don't have the slightest idea where to look for mine'." She leant against the wall next to him.

"You didn't. I did. I just keep thinking—."

"Don't think."

"I cannot not think."

"Then think about something else instead."

"Any suggestions?"

"If nothing else… then this perhaps…"

Sariss drew him towards her, stood on tiptoes and kissed him, very, very slowly, only teasing him. She could feel the little hairs on the nape of his neck stand on end, her cold fingertips leaving goose bumps behind where they touched his skin. "Still thinking?" she mumbled against his lips.

"Not really. I've been waiting for this moment for days on end. I hardly caught a glimpse of you since the Quidditch match. And I can hardly even look at you during mealtimes when I know I won't be even touching you in front of everybody for fear something might overcome me. Something like this," he replied before he drowned her in a kiss, pressing her against the wall with the length of his body, his hands sneaking around her waist, thus enveloping her in everything that was him, his warmth, his scent, his emotions—desire, affection, care… He clearly cared very much about her; it might even be love. Those emotions were very hard to tell apart, it was actually roundabout impossible. And it wasn't important, either, since to Sariss love couldn't exist without care. And even if Severus only cared about her, it was much more already than anyone else—except her mother and Dumbledore perhaps—had ever felt for her. At least not to that extent. She felt as though she were standing in a fire, the flames searingly hot, yet not burning her up.

**Oh, don't give me the 'He cares for me' thingy. You sound like a bad psychologist, dear.**

_I don't care what I sound like, actually. Not now. I can't think very clearly…_

**He wants you.**

_You might be right… If he carried me into the bedroom now, I wouldn't even have the strength to object…_

**Wait, wait, wait. Where's the voice I usually bicker with?**

_Right here._

**Doesn't sound like it.**

_Doesn't feel like her usual self either… Oh, by Merlin and Morgana…_

He had begun to trail hot kisses along her jaw line and towards her ear, his tongue drawing small moist circles, his teeth grazing over her skin, in a way that seemed to melt every bone in her body—when he drew back rather suddenly and took a step back. With a moan, Sariss slumped against the wall, her knees having the stability of jelly, catching her breath.

Perhaps he thought he was pushing her too far? She had to admit that if he had kept this up for much longer, she wouldn't have minded if he had started undressing her.

_Not at all… _

"I sure do like this room," she whispered breathlessly, absent-mindedly, her thoughts still clouded. Her lips were tingling; she could still taste him, his scent seemingly lingering all over her.

"I dare say this room likes you, too," he said, not even remotely as breathless as she was. "Your sheer presence has an effect on it… It's similar to the effect you have on me."

"It _likes_ me?" Sariss teased, smiling slightly.

"I only said it's _similar_ to the effect you have on me. And all the better since I'd hardly get work done in here if you had the same effect on it as you have on my state of mind," he mumbled against her lips again. "Would be much too cloudy in here…"

"Remarkable how you manage to flatter me so very discreetly." Sariss fought to keep her eyes open. Her eyelids had developed a tendency to droop and fall shut when he was so close.

"Would you rather I were flattering you more openly? I think I can manage that, too…" he drawled lazily, his breath hot on her lips.

_If he keeps this up, I guarantee for nothing…_

**Now's not the time and you know it. You hardly know him.**

_I've known him since I was eleven years old. And he told me enough about himself._

**You can't tell for sure that there's not more than that.**

_At the moment, I can't seem to care about that. And isn't there a saying that says 'Take what you can get before it's taken by someone else'?_

**You don't want to take something here. You want to be—.**

_Hold your tongue!_

**I don't even have one. I'm just the analytic part of your mind.**

_The annoying part you are._

**I'm not talking to you anymore.**

_Alright. Then mope as long as you want. We both know you can't keep out of it for very long…_

Sariss grinned against his lips. A certain thought had just occurred to her. 

"Speaking of flattering…" she breathed. "Mint-green is definitely not your colour."

He drew back and looked at her, puzzled. "What?" He furrowed his brows in confusion. 

_He is so cute when he's confused, isn't he?_

**Let's confuse him a bit more then…**

_You're talking to me again! I knew you couldn't keep quiet for very long. _

**Confuse him. Confuse him—.**

_I heard you the first time… Could have been my idea._

**In a way it was…**

_If you think so. Let's see…_

"And you're not the type for a fox-fur scarf either," she added in a dead serious voice. How she had managed to do that she didn't know. The laughter was fighting to get out.

"You've lost me completely now." He shook his head.

"Let me explain it that way. I had a very entertaining lesson yesterday afternoon. You're lucky you weren't at dinner. Or perhaps, I was lucky that you weren't. I would have dropped to the floor, howling with laughter if I had seen you so shortly after the lesson with the seventh year Slytherins and Gryffindors…"

"And?" He raised his eyebrows.

"I was revising Boggarts with them."

"And?"

"Did you know that you're still Neville Longbottom's greatest fear?"

Severus buried his face in his hand and mumbled, an incredulous tinge to his voice, "He didn't." Then he looked at her, rather pleadingly. "Tell me he didn't. Please."

"Oh, yes, he definitely did." She grinned broadly. "Although I can't see a reason why he might be afraid of you. You don't look very scary from where I am right now." Sariss snorted with laughter at the memory and the expression on Severus's face.

"Sariss…" By now, he was glowering down at her. If he was serious or not, she didn't know and she didn't care. She couldn't stop laughing all of a sudden. 

"You know," she gasped, "the Boggart-Snape even had that line appear between its eyes which has just appeared between yours, too… I'd just like to know what Longbottom's grandmother had to say to this when the news about that reached her ears…" 

"Oh, please, it's not _that_ funny." Severus rolled his eyes.

"It is funny, too funny. And I'm sorry, really. I'm sorry. I can't stop laughing. I didn't mean to laugh at you. It's just that I couldn't bite it back any longer when I looked at you. I just keep imagining you in that dress. It was lace-trimmed…"

He sneered slightly.

She snorted again and leant against him for support. He was so much more comfortable than the wall… 

"I'm sorry…" she repeated in-between gasps for air. When she had finally calmed down, she raised her head and looked him in the face. He showed not the slightest bit of emotion in his features. "I'm sorry," she chanced a small smile at him, then she pouted and gave him an upward glance. "Forgive me?"

"I'm so pleased my distress amuses you," he drawled, smirking—almost smiling—and little wrinkles appeared around his eyes as he did so. "I'm afraid it takes more than just saying that you're sorry."

"A sign of good will, so to speak?" she caught on.

"That's one way to put it…" he trailed off as he pulled her near once more.

"You should be thankful that I got it out of my system now," she teased, her arms around his waist. "If I hadn't I might have sniggered for no apparent reason all day long—what do I say? All week at least."

"I would have found a way to silence you." His voice alone was enough to send shivers down her spine—velvety, low and husky as it was right now.

"Really?"

"Yes," he said.

"And just what did you have in mind?"

"This, perhaps…" he trailed off and began to demonstrate very thoroughly and repeatedly how he would have silenced her until Sariss very breathlessly and equally hesitantly pointed out that they would have to go now if they wanted some breakfast at all before lessons started…

**~*~*~**

After the second to last double-lesson on Friday, Sariss decided to take the stack of parchment to her chambers rather than drop them off in her office. It was nicer to work in her warm and cosy study than the equally warm yet not so cosy office.

Turning round the corner of the corridor, she bumped into someone. The parchments went flying to the floor—as did Sariss, who didn't even look up at the person who had caused the little catastrophe. She quickly Summoned the parchments and ordered them to arrange into a neat stack. "Can't you look where—?" she began.

"Nice to see that you, too, drop things when I get near you."

She tossed her hair back and looked up at him, letting a smile cross her features. "Don't just stand there, Severus. Make yourself useful and be a gentleman and help me up," she said mock-sternly.

He bowed. "If the lady will accept my hand?"

"The lady certainly will." Sariss was really smiling by now. How easily he managed to do that, make her smile. She took his hand, trying to ignore the static electricity that rustled between them, and let herself be pulled up. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be down in the dungeons?"

"I've got to see Dumbledore," he said.

"Important business?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Not for you. What about you? Shouldn't you be teaching now?"

"Yes, but I gave the students a bit of work. Meanwhile, I just wanted to drop off this stuff," she pointed towards the stack of parchment that was patiently sitting on the floor next to her feet, "in my study. I'll get another one of those next lesson and I don't want them to get mixed up, which is very likely with you sneaking around here," she added with a wink. 

"Aren't you afraid that they'll be cheating?"

"Anti-cheating spell."

"You think of everything, don't you?"

"I try."

Sariss moved to pick up the stack again, but Severus didn't let go of her hand. Instead, he pulled her near.

"Severus, not here. We could be seen…"

"Unlikely. Lessons have already started. The students are all busy and off the corridors."

"What if some of them are late—?"

Actually, Sariss never got this far with her sentence since Severus had once more silenced her with a kiss, a very tender kiss. Sariss made a mental note to perhaps apply names to the ways he was kissing her, perhaps the names of candies or ice cream or fruit… This could be the strawberry with whipped cream version, slow and sweet as it was.

"A very wise decision to cease to fasten your hair," he mumbled in-between kisses, his fingers gathering up her tresses.

"No use," Sariss breathed oh so very eloquently, before he prevented any further conversation.

"This is witchcraft," Severus whispered when he pulled back.

"I am a witch," Sariss replied, enjoying the fact that she had such an effect on him—and the fact that he admitted it freely.

"And what a witch you are," he smiled and stroked her cheek. She leant into the palm of his hand.

They all but leapt apart when fast footsteps approached, and Severus displayed a presence of mind that was really impressive. "Can't you watch where you're going?" he snapped in a way that made Sariss take a step back. He groaned in exasperation, as a black-clad whirlwind rushed in their direction and off around the corner. The student was apparently late for his or her next lesson. "Let me see. Are you hurt?"

Sariss shook her head automatically. 

"Do you think…" Sariss began when the student she hadn't even seen properly was out of sight and overhearing range.

"I don't know. Was I convincing?"

"If I didn't know what happened before," Sariss stated dryly, "I'd have thought we were back at where we were last year."

"Do you think he or she saw us… before?"

"I have no idea." She moved to pick up the stack of parchment. Severus had thankfully let go of her hand. "If the student saw us, the whole school will know by tonight if he or she doesn't keep their mouth shut."

"Have you ever considered using a Memory Charm?" Severus asked sarcastically.

"I don't like Memory Charms very much, although they are necessary when you deal with Muggles. In this case, I'm not sure. And we don't even know who it was."

"We'd just have to find out who was late for their lessons."

"Yeah, right. It would only make a few dozens or so to narrow it down to. And what would you ask them, 'Excuse me, but have you seen two Hogwarts teachers trying to cover up that they were snogging in the third floor corridor?'"

"A bit more subtly perhaps. Anyway, we can always say that I bumped into you when I ran around the corner. No reason why they shouldn't believe this, as we tend to put on one hell of a show."

"I'm not so sure if it's a show. We tend to argue constantly."

"I'd call it bickering, not arguing. Argument sounds so unpleasant," Severus said.

"But we certainly are convincing whether you call it argument or bickering contest. As far as I can tell we're not even suspected of having started on fancying each other."

"Fancying, huh? If snogging in the hallways is fancying…" he trailed off. "I should go now. Dumbledore, remember?"

"Alright then. You go and see Dumbledore. And I'll see to that I reach my rooms without another encounter like this one."

"You wouldn't dare cheating on me already, would you?"

"Never underestimate me," she drawled, then smiled. "Of course not. What do you think I am? A wanton woman?"

"The way you kiss me sometimes…" he trailed off and was already on his way again.

Sariss silently sent a prayer to everyone who might be listening. _Please, whoever you are, if you saw something, do be discreet about this. Do not spread what you perhaps think you saw. Do not start a true rumour…_

And apparently someone had been listening since later on there were no signs of anyone knowing about the fact that the Potions master and the DADA mistress had something that could by now very well be called the beginnings of an ardent love affair.

**~*~*~**

Ron yawned. "We shouldn't have celebrated so late last night. I think I'll fall asleep as soon as I sit down on my chair in Flitwick's class."

Harry too yawned. Ron's yawns were always so infectious. 

In fact the entire seventh years were looking rather tired—at least the inhabitants of Gryffindor's boys' dormitory.

"I feel like I could sleep a week," Harry muttered, slumped down in his seat, and massaged the bridge of his nose. His glasses felt incredibly heavy today. "I shouldn't have had that last butterbeer."

"You tell me," said Dean. "I shouldn't have had the last three or so."

"I take it Ron's birthday party went on in the boys' dorm the whole night?" Hermione asked with a very naughty grin.

"Almost."

Harry only nodded and propped up his head on his elbow.

Professor Flitwick had just started the lesson and begun to explain something about Portkeys. "Today we'll learn how to charm one for every location. Who can tell me why Portkeys are so important in the wizarding community?"

Hermione's finger shot up.

Flitwick smiled. "Yes, Miss Granger?"

She cleared her throat. "Portkeys are necessary for wizards who don't have an Apparation license yet. They are also very useful to transport a great number of people to secure areas. An additional advantage of them is that you can Portkey into unplottable areas whereas Apparation doesn't work there. Although the Portkey must have been used to travel out of that area first, it is nonetheless the only way apart from Floo powder to enter an unplottable location by use of magic."

"Splendid explanation. Ten points for Gryffindor, Miss Granger. Couldn't have said it better myself. Now, everyone choose an object—there's the box—and we'll begin creating a Portkey. The out-Portkeying destination will be Hogsmeade…"

"How ever do you do that?"

"What, Ron?"

"Know all those things before you're taught them."

"Research. By the way, I've done some other research too."

"Other research?" Harry asked.

"I'll fill you two in after the lesson. Now let's practise charming our Portkeys."

"Oh…" Ron made a sound that could only be interpreted as frustration.

"They might let us use them for going into Hogsmeade. You could sneak off to Zonko's for a moment or two…" Hermione raised her eyebrows at him.

That motivated Ron in a previously unseen way.

When the lesson was almost over, Professor Flitwick said, "And now wrap them up carefully. We'll finish them next lesson. Careful there, Mr Longbottom. The Portkey does not yet know where to take you. You could end up anywhere if you touch it… I'd like you to revise what we did today, and thoroughly if you please."

"So…" Ron began. "What about that research of yours, 'Mione?"

"Remember when we spoke about Professor Ravon?"

"Yeah, sure. What about her?"

"My research was about that Patronus thing and her in general—background information, so to speak."

"Well, come on, out with it. What have you found out?"

"Professor Ravon was registered as an Animagus in 1985—that must be one of the reasons why her name sounded so familiar, I've read it before—which made me wonder how old she actually is. She didn't strike me old enough to have been out of school already in 1985," Hermione said. "And so I went and took a look at the Hogwarts parchment, the parchment which writes down the name of every magical child that is born."

"And? How old is she? Four hundred?"

"I'm not kidding, Ron. I found her first name on a parchment dated 1970, but her surname was illegible—."

"Illegible?"

"Blotched. A large blotch of ink all over it. I only knew it was her, because her given name is so unusual. I'd never have found her if her name were Katie or Lisa or something like that."

"Wait a second. If she was born in 1970…" Harry began. "That makes her fifteen in 1985. She became an Animagus when she hadn't even finished school?"

"It appears that she has received her Apparation license even earlier…" Hermione's expression became thoughtful. "I should have asked Professor McGonagall if I could take an extra course on that, too…" she muttered.

"Why would her name be hidden?" Ron asked.

"That's what I asked myself, too, at first. I tried to charm the blotch off. Didn't work. No matter what I tried. It must be under a similar spell that the books in the library have cast on them to make them last. But why do that to that parchment, in particular when it's supposed to be a record of the students destined to come here?"

"Was there nothing you could decipher?" asked Harry.

"No, not really. A bit of the first letter was visible, but it could be everything from B, D, P and R, of course."

"Maybe it was an accident…" Ron mused.

"They would have repaired it if it were."

"Yeah, right. Hadn't thought of that…" Ron sounded a bit embarrassed. "But who did it? Do you think Professor Ravon—?"

"Dumbledore would have set it right, I'm sure," Harry cut in before Hermione could. "He must have done it if it wasn't an accident, which it doesn't look like to me either."

"But why would he do that?" Hermione asked, her brows furrowed.

"Why would he refrain from letting someone read her name if it weren't important? I wonder if Professor Ravon knows—."

"The way it seems to me," Harry said, "all the Professors know her by that name… Maybe she has no idea that her name has not been fully recorded on the parchment… I mean, who goes to see if his or her name is on the parchment? I certainly didn't."

"But there must be something about her we haven't taken into consideration. Malfoy seems to know something about her…" Ron said thoughtfully.

"We don't know that. Perhaps he's just claiming to know something," Hermione replied.

"But why did she freak out if Malfoy was only talking rubbish?"

"She might have a secret after all." Harry shrugged. "Who doesn't nowadays?"

"Well, if that secret is that she worked as an Auror and killed a distant cousin or something like that of Malfoy's…" Hermione said.

"Maybe that's been the one time she used Avada Kedavra…" Ron sounded uneasy at the thought alone.

"Oh, come off it, Ron. It's happened before that, that the Aurors were given permission to kill rather than take a Death Eater for prisoner—especially when they act as ruthless as they have over the last two or so years…"

"But that's not a secret. I bet there are a lot of people who know about that incident. Where did you learn it? A clipping from the _Daily Prophet_?"

"As a matter of fact, yes."

"So that's not it… What about the Patronus thingy?" Ron asked.

"Well, of course I read up on that one, too. And the books all said something about Patroni reacting in general very strongly to a high concentration of magic in a being, but mostly evil magic, Dark magic and Dark creatures—."

"Professor Ravon—a Dark Creature? Oh, come off it! It didn't hurt her."

"Maybe Prongs just liked her? Or he wanted to take a closer look at her if she's good enough a teacher for his sonny-boy?" Ron joked, but then added, "Does a Patronus do something like that under normal circumstances? Just look at someone or something that they ought to charge at?"

"That's what puzzles me. They usually charge immediately at Dark creatures—not just Dementors and Lethifolds… However, they can't hurt the other creatures; they only drive Dementors and Lethifolds away…"

"So she's not one of those. What else is there? A vampire?"

"She's eating and drinking. You can see it at mealtimes quite well. And despite the fact that she's… er…—oh let's state it like it is already!—white as a wall, she walks around in bright daylight. So, no vampire there. And no werewolf either, for that matter. I have experience in that."

"Couldn't there be a spell that would allow her to walk in daylight if she were a vampire?"

"If you'd like to invent one, Ron, there'd be a lot of vampires kissing your feet out of sheer gratitude—."

"—and then they'd rip your throat out and feed on you," Harry finished in a fairly casual voice, sounding as though he were commenting on the weather.

Ron blanched a bit. "Lovely image there, really."

"And then I racked my brain for anything else to come up with," Hermione continued. "And this is where it gets really interesting."

"Really?" Ron drawled. Apparently, he had already had his share of Hermione's vast knowledge for the day.

Hermione ignored him. "I kept rummaging around old Daily Prophet clippings and—rather accidentally I must admit—came across a quite old issue. September 1980."

"1980? Voldemort—sorry, Ron—he was at his height of power back then…"

"Right. And guess what, he came for Professor Ravon and her mother. He killed the latter and cast some sort of spell onto her—."

"What kind of spell?"

"No idea. They had absolutely no idea. But the effect of it seems to have been that she kept doing exactly what's happened in class: Blowing up things—accidentally, of course. With much more disastrous results than when we lose it. But then again that might only have been the shock… I don't know… And a potion was involved, too, if I recall correctly. Again: No idea what it was or what it really did—save for making her grow colder physically and sensitive to other peoples emotions."

"You mean, she's a mind-reader?" This time it was Harry who blanched. If Professor Ravon had read his thoughts about Ginny…

"No, just emotions. When you're angry or upset or happy. Just how you feel randomly," Hermione explained hastily; she sounded as though she wanted to get to the point quickly, which she did. "The point is that You-Know-Who wanted to take her with him when the Aurors came and saved her. Why? Nobody knows. Nobody knows why he didn't kill her in the first place, why he didn't take her away first and then do what he did. Perhaps she was too powerful, even as a child?" Hermione mused. "And nobody knows what exactly happened to her… Well, I suppose, Dumbledore might know a bit of it. He took care of her when the Aurors couldn't control her and brought her here to attend school. That's about everything I could find in this short time. There's just too much parchment and books in the library when you don't know exactly what you're looking for. I was lucky to have found this small piece of information."

"Great," said Ron sarcastically. "But thanks anyway."

"Sometimes answers do lie in the library."

"Maybe," Harry said. "But instead of getting some answers we only got more questions."

**Next chapter:**

A visit to Hogsmeade. The ultimate flashback and a few highly unpleasant revelations. We'll finally come to the angsty part of this. I recommend handkerchiefs en masse if you haven't already acquired some earlier.


	19. Sweet Death

**Author's note:** Very long chapter ahead, folks! As a matter of fact it's the longest in this seemingly never-ending story.  
Thanks for commenting on the last chapter go to:  
**Blaise—**Try to find the PotO quote in here, sis! Only one of the little (sometimes rather insignificant) changes I made in this story since you saw it the last time ;-)  
**Butterfly—**Want to teach me how to say a few things in Finnish?  
**Miriam—**You contributed a great deal to my personal hyper-ness. But that doesn't change the fact that you're in for a really evil cliffie. I can't wait to hear you complain about how I could just leave it at that. As **Blaise** would say: '_You're a meany, Sariss!_' ;-)

We've reached a magical moment! My 100th review (**Miriam**)… *wipes tear away* Now let's hunt the 1000th!

**Chapter 18: Sweet Death**

**_In your creation heaven did decree  
That in your arms sweet death should dwell_**

**—**_Nightwish: Deep Silent Complete_

Sariss Ravon stepped inside the Three Broomsticks, lowered her hood and brushed a few snowflakes from her cloak, glancing around, searching…

Greeting Madam Rosmerta and nodding at some students, who quickly returned to their conversations, she walked through the main room, towards the alcoves that were a bit separated from the rest of the room and thus offered a little privacy. She walked past one and the next and the next—when a pair of strong arms pulled her inside one of the niches.

"What kept you?" a velvety voice asked, but the owner of it didn't leave her any time to reply since he had already pulled her near, cupped her face and lowered his lips to hers, thus very effectively silencing her. Again she felt dizzy, drunk on his scent, the feel of his lips, his tongue, teasing her, warming her to the very core of her being, driving the outer world away.

When they pulled apart, she had to take a deep breath before she whispered huskily, "What a pleasant welcome. I should have kept you waiting for a little while longer."

"I would have come and got you myself if you had."

She smiled sadly. "No, you wouldn't have. Some students might have seen us and let us never hear the end of it. Or worse things could happen. You know what I mean. But I don't want to talk about that now."

He mimicked her expression strangely accurately—or so she thought—and said, "That's why we're sitting here—hidden from curious glances—and not out there on a silver platter… May I get you something?"

"That would be nice." And smirking, she added, "I happen to like nice men."

"I'm a nice man."

"You're not," she said teasingly, throwing him a mischievous glance.

"Really?" he drawled. "What am I then? Enlighten me."

"You're angry and sarcastic," she answered, seriousness hidden behind a small smile, "but at the same time I find you incredibly gentle if the situation calls for it and mysterious, too. I'd like to solve a bit of the mystery that's Severus Snape."

"I bet you would," he said, giving her another quick kiss from across the table before he stood up and drew himself up to his full height. "So what may this mystery that I am order for you, Milady?" he raised a questioning eyebrow.

"I think I'll have Butterbeer to go with the mysterious Potions master."

"Certainly." He grinned lopsidedly and went on his mission to acquire a Butterbeer.

After a minute or so, he returned and set a steaming mug on the table. "There you are," he said and sat down on the opposite side of the table so that they were facing each other.

"Thank you," Sariss replied and took a sip from her mug, closing her eyes and sighing contently as the warm, tasty liquid ran down her throat.

When she opened her eyes again and set the mug back down on the table she found Severus watching her intently.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Quite the opposite actually."

She tilted her head in suspicion. "You think I'm weird, don't you?" she chanced.

He shrugged. "Not more or less than anyone else around here."

"Nice way of avoiding saying yes."

"Thank you."

"Just to let you know, you're not the ordinary guy either."

"I hope so," he grinned for a moment. "Otherwise you wouldn't sit here with me, would you?"

"Who knows?" 

"Quite an indistinct answer. Your favourites, aren't they?"

"I believe in being diplomatic. Most of the time at least."

"But sometimes you aren't. I clearly remember—" 

"Ouch! Don't even start. I'm still blushing furiously when I only waste a thought in passing to what you're referring to." She turned her gaze away from him, watching the swirling brownish liquid in her mug. 

"At least you're aware of your evil temper."

"I can't help it! It's—" 

"I know. You've always been like this," he interrupted her. "It's part of you. It's who you are." It was amazing how soothing his presence could be sometimes…

"I hate it," she whispered bitterly, not looking up.

He was silent, only watching her intently with these glinting black eyes of his as she took another sip of her Butterbeer to bridge the silence that had fallen so heavily upon the two of them when she had uttered those words.

"I'm sorry," he said after a while.

"What? Why?" she asked, surprised to hear an apology for whatever from him. If there was one thing Severus Snape didn't do it was apologize—or so she had thought.

"I know you're reacting to the people around you; and when you're with me it's that all you throw back _at_ me is what has originally been thrown at you _by_ me. It's about high time I, too, apologized," he said, taking her hand, caressing it. Her hands seemed so small and fragile to her when he took them in his. They didn't give away the immense power that lay within them.

"I don't know what to say," Sariss replied softly, almost inaudibly.

"Say you forgive me," he suggested, still running his fingertip over her knuckles, her long nails, her palm. Little shivers went through her.

"I do. There's nothing I wouldn't forgive you if you asked me to." At that, a sad expression appeared on Severus's face. Her face fell, too. "What is it? What did I say?"

He'd let go of her hand and took a large swig of the contents of his goblet, before he said, "Nothing of importance. Let's not ruin this otherwise lovely day by talking about me. Let's talk about you instead. A much lovelier topic of conversation if you ask me."

**~*~*~**

She shook her head. "Believe me, it isn't. My life doesn't make a nice topic for small talk."

"Why? Is it—," he stopped himself just in time. "Why shouldn't it be a nicer topic than mine? Apart from the part that must not be mentioned, I mean?"

"The part that must not be mentioned," she repeated. "I always refer to it as 'the incident' or—."

"And there we have you talk about it anyway."

"I'm shutting up already."

Severus took her hand again and this time pressed his lips on the back of it and let them linger there. "Strawberry," he said dreamily, "or am I imagining things?" His lips grazed over her skin as he spoke, since his mouth hadn't left it yet.

"It's not only strawberry. It consists of a number of scents to cover up its original smell, which I never liked."

"And what is _it_?"

"You see, as my skin is pretty fair it sunburns very easily, even when it's wintertime. I need to apply Sun-Protection Potion regularly—unless I'd like to look as if a Pink-Paint Charm had gone seriously wrong. And that would be the bearable version of what could happen. As I understood Madam Pomfrey, serious sunburn could award me with a new nickname: lobster. That's all that happens. I do not tan."

"Lobster? That's what my mother once said to me when I was a small child and hadn't listened to her warnings. I, too, inherited rather sun-sensitive skin. But later on I always hexed everyone who called me that. So, no further trouble on the lobster side."

"Yes, but as it turned out, I'd have preferred 'lobster' to being called what they called me—and I couldn't simply curse it out of them all."

"Why? What did they call you?"

"Vampire," Sariss whispered, throwing a bitter smile in his direction. "It took them only a few weeks to come up with that one, actually. I didn't even mind it at first. I simply didn't care. But then it went… I don't know… It became too much for me—and I pride myself on being capable of taking quite a lot."

Severus had never noticed that. Shouldn't he have known what was going on in Slytherin House?

"Often?" he asked softly, although her tone of voice had given him his answer already. "What did they say?"

She looked at him and began. "Where's your coffin?—Where do you keep your native soil?—Want to have a bite?—Here have some garlic? (And unfortunately I really _am_ allergic to garlic and onions and the like.)—A rose for the vampire, what do you think, fellows?—Welcome to Slytherin. See that one over there? Get yourself a cross to wear it around your neck at night.—Do you think a stake through the heart would kill her?—How about if we swapped her pumpkin juice with holy water—or even better: Blood? No, we can't risk doing her a favour—"

Her voice was dripping with cynicism as she recounted every single cliché that had ever been thrown at her. Maybe she was trying to cover up how much words like those could hurt a child. Every child received some taunting in his or her life. That was unavoidable. But not even Severus had received so much that he could recount the exact expressions in the way that she did now…

Perhaps she'd always used irony as a shield to keep her going when she was actually breaking inside? How often did you have to be told that you were repulsive until you started actually believing it?

**Not as often as most people think.**

He felt inclined to interrupt her and asked, "Why haven't you—"

"Because I refuse to burden anyone with my problems," she whispered. "And I don't want other people to burden themselves with my problems. Very few did it nonetheless. I'm kind of glad they did. But fortunately that vampire business stopped once I had myself under control and couldn't be made to lose it that easily anymore. Of course, the respective people had been very creative on that sector. So they went smoothly over to new things. But by that time… I'm not sure what had happened to me… I think I've somehow _hardened_. I've become steel back then. I realized that I mustn't let words hurt me. My friends were of great help. But since they've been gone it's like—" She shook her head at herself as if she couldn't believe that she was actually pouring out her heart to Severus Snape who had been teaching her for seven years and never noticed anything alarming. Well, never was not quite right—but did it make a difference?

Perhaps it had been a mistake to ask her to talk about herself instead of himself? Severus could certainly have come up with a topic that would have been safer for both of them than their current one was. Safer, because it didn't spoil the mood. And Severus wasn't in the mood to see her do anything else but smile at him.

"Oh dear. It must be my nerves. I've been just so on edge recently… I'm sorry. Like I said, I don't want to burden anyone with childhood ghosts and all that minor stuff when there's so much amiss in the wizarding world. When people die, what's my life in comparison to theirs? It's—. Maybe I shouldn't have quit being an Auror? I mean, there seem to be more and more attacks everywhere. Wouldn't I be more useful if I fought out there? Life seems so easy when it consists entirely of work, you know?"

Severus only nodded. She spoke as though she were writing in a diary. He didn't know whether she meant to make conversation or merely voiced her thoughts aloud.

There were so many things about her that he didn't know. Many little things. Some larger ones. Many things with little meaning. A few that meant a lot.

What startled him was that he actually wanted to know them all. He wanted to know what made this woman who she was. What had influenced her? What did she want? What did she expect from herself or him or other people? She was young. What would she do when the school year was over? Would she stay for another year? Would she go look for something else?

There was a long silence.

Sariss had stopped talking; and Severus seemingly couldn't bring himself to voice his thoughts. After all, saying he was sorry wasn't an option. He couldn't be sorry for something that he hadn't done. He had done enough things he actually was sorry for.

She had drawn her hand out of his quite some time ago. Now she had both of her hands splayed against the surface of the table and watched them. No, she rather seemed to be scrutinizing them.

"Sariss?" he whispered after a long time.

"Hmm?"

"Can we agree on talking only about nice and pleasant things?"

"There aren't many nice things in existence." She hadn't looked up.

"You are."

"I'm not nice."

"Sometimes you are. For example, when you're not subdued or shouting. Well, I've even come to find you nice when you're angry. So, I must admit, that you're not a nice topic for conversation at the moment."

"Thank you," she said sarcastically.

"I mean it. I would rather have you be mad at me than be… like this."

"But that's what I am most of the time. Sorry to disappoint you."

"I'm not disappointed."

"You should be. I would be if I were you."

"Why is that?"

"Well…" she began. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but I've got the impression that you haven't quite gotten what you bargained for. I mean, it's quite clear to me that no one wants the iceberg when they can have a volcano."

"What makes you think it impossible for me to have bargained for the 'iceberg'? Besides, I love a good challenge," he said, letting his fingers crawls towards hers. "And I have a feeling that I might be able to melt the ice away if I knew more about what's hidden underneath the ice. I'm not joking even though it may sound strange to you. I do want to know as much as I can about you."

"Why?" she asked.

That was a very tricky question since there was no actual answer to it. Why did he want to know so much about her? Well… Indeed a tricky question. He liked her very much, despite the fact that she was sometimes a bit strange. If you overlooked some—although not immediately obvious—things, she was incredible. Her emotional state was the problematic thing, her memories were another. She could have been perfect if the Dark Lord had never existed.

"There's really not much to know about me, nothing nice anyway. And the rest… The few things that would be safe to talk about are nothing new, especially for you. I mean you've known me since I was about that height." She indicated a height of about four feet. "And what's left to know about me… well, it's that I don't know it myself."

Severus was thoughtful now, pondering something. "Well, then what do you believe in—apart from being oh so diplomatic?" he finally asked. A simple question. Small talk. But Sariss seemed not to mind. It would be better now to talk about minor matters—things that were of no importance out there in the wizarding world that was suffering the Second Dark Age of Voldemort. He liked her; he didn't like the tears in her eyes whether they stayed there, unshed, or ran down her face.

He found he also liked listening to her soft voice.

"Er… I believe in being prepared," she answered after having thought for a second or two.

"Always?" 

"Always."

"And if that's not possible?"

"It's always possible to prepare yourself for what's coming to you. It's just that sometimes you fail."

"Have you ever failed?"

"Only few times, but it was never a complete failure. On the other hand, in one case it depends on the point of view…" she trailed off, finishing her Butterbeer. "I've got to go to Honeydukes before heading back to the castle. I'm running low on chocolate as it is and they really make the best. You should know I can't live without chocolate. There you have it. I'm an addict." She got up.

He followed suit. "I'm coming with you."

"You know, you don't have to accompany me everywhere. Don't feel bound or something like that. I'm a big girl."

"I'd rather not leave you alone. I have a bad feeling."

"You worry too much."

"Remind me again, which one of the two of us stated just a few minutes ago that it would be wise to 'always be prepared'?"

"Guilty as charged, Severus," she smiled, brushing his hand with hers, a gesture that made another set little shivers run up and down his spine. "But Hogsmeade is safe. No Death Eater would dare come here and cause trouble. There are just too many good wizards and witches around, aren't there?"

"I have a bad feeling nonetheless… I feel as though I were being watched—and you, too. Do you sense anything out of the ordinary?"

Sariss shook her head and then followed him outside.

**~*~*~**

They walked towards Honeydukes, nothing about them betraying the fact that they were actually a bit more than just trying to get along with each other. The street was rather empty since the snow had started falling more and more thickly. Sariss drew her cloak tighter around her. Fortunately, she had a pair of gloves with her, too. Suddenly she wished Severus would put his arm around her, but she knew he wouldn't. If the Dark Lord were to learn about their relationship, it might indeed make her a target and as far as she could tell, he didn't take treason lightly. He'd punish Severus by hurting her and then he'd finish what he had started seventeen and a half years ago…

They had just passed the path that led towards the Shrieking Shack when Draco Malfoy suddenly approached them, Crabbe and Goyle with him. "Professor Snape?" he asked, glancing only for the fraction of a second at Sariss. "I have a few questions concerning that essay about that new, improved Shrinking Potion we started on, last lesson."

"If you should be looking for me later on, Professor Snape, to finish our conversation, you can find me at Honeydukes," Sariss said politely, her voice and body language betraying nothing at all.

Severus curtly nodded at her, then returned his attention to Draco Malfoy. "Well, then ask your questions, Mr Malfoy, but make it quick."

"Alright. About this dash of leech juice that has to be added…"

Sariss made her way down the main street. The snow was falling rather thickly now and it had become quite windy, too. A snow flurry it had become. She clutched her cloak tightly, careful not to stumble because of the packed snow. She screwed her eyes to small slits since the wind seemed to burn them, so bitingly cold was it.

The streets emptied; people hurried to get inside a shop or the post office to shield themselves from the storm. Sariss, too, hurried towards Honeydukes. The main street was soon deserted.

Sariss had almost reached Honeydukes—it was only a few more yards and then crossing the street—when she felt something. 

_'Do you sense anything out of the ordinary?'_

_Oh yes._

Nervousness perhaps, anticipation. Perhaps even excitement. Strong feelings. She shook her head, trying to force those emotions back. There was darkness behind them. No happy anticipation. Evil. _Someone is up to something_, she thought, reaching into her sleeve to get her wand. She didn't really need it in case something happened, but it was part of her, made her feel more normal. _Now where—_

But she couldn't even finish her thought since she was struck by a spell, a Stunning spell it must have been. It hit her in the back and she stumbled. 

"Stupefy," a cold voice said, and Sariss felt herself lose balance and drift away.

The last thing she saw before she fell into the snow, were two black-clad figures advancing on her through the snowstorm, their wands brandished at her, one of them muttering "Wingardium Leviosa." And as though she were a doll, she was lifted into the air and floated towards them.

_No. Please no…_

Then there was nothing.

**~*~*~**

"Is that all, Mr Malfoy?" Severus asked, now quite impatient already—and not only because his toes were starting to get numb. Did this boy never open his Potions book at all? Usually it wouldn't have bothered him. But today he had intended to be with Sariss, talking with her outside of school, about things that had nothing to do with Hogwarts, just small talk, getting to know her better, trying to solve a bit of the riddle she was… And it was rather cold, too…

"Yes, I think. Thank you, Professor Snape."

"You're welcome," Severus whispered absent-mindedly, brushing the snow off his cloak, as the three Slytherins turned and went in direction of the castle.

_Alright then. Honeydukes it is._

With long strides he proceeded along the snow-packed main road when suddenly, out of the corner of his eyes, he saw a movement in the alley between the post office and a small shop that sold talismans and trinkets, hence its name.

Curious, he changed direction and headed towards the alley, reaching for his wand as he did so. _Always be prepared, isn't it?_

When he came closer, he could tell that Sariss had obviously failed once again, although she had not told him what the first time she'd failed had been exactly. However, now she was lying on the ground, in the snow, carelessly dropped down there, unconscious, Stunned—by Lucius Malfoy who stood menacingly over her.

"Well done, old friend. I knew you had it in you," his drawling voice penetrated the silence.

Severus stepped closer. "What is the meaning of all of this, Lucius?"

"Isn't it obvious? We caught her for the master. He's intending to grant her an audience. However, she did not appreciate this generous offer."

Severus smirked. "With what did she deserve this honour?" Lucius, although quite familiar with the concept of sarcasm and irony, had never been perceptive to the Potions master's sense of it—although, this time, (Severus had to grant it to him) it wasn't that obvious—and it was good that way.

"That I cannot tell you," Malfoy smirked gleefully. "It is the Dark Lord's business alone. He wouldn't tell and after all, it is not like him to inform his followers of such petty matters as to what his motives are. He commands; we obey. You should know that, Severus."

"I do."

"Very well."

"But there's something that displeases me. Why have I been left out of this plan? I could have been useful. I could have made this much easier. She trusts me," the Potions master said. "Has Draco deliberately distracted me and held me back?"

"Of course he has. If he hadn't, you would have had to fight us, just to keep up your act, showing loyalty towards Dumbledore by defending his protégée. You never know who watches you… And there's this annoying business that she would have sensed your obvious _discomfort_ if the Dark Lord had involved you as you're constantly around her. She would have been warned. And…" he gave the Malfoy-equivalent of a chuckle, "just in case. You haven't developed sort of a soft spot for her, have you?"

"Certainly not," Severus sneered with as much disgust at the sheer thought as he could possibly manage and dismissed the mere possibility of it with a casual wave of his hand. He hoped it was convincing.

"Good." Malfoy's eyes glittered balefully. "The Dark Lord will summon his followers soon. Prepare yourself to come to where he will be waiting for us all."

"When will that be?" he asked coldly.

"Tonight," Lucius Malfoy answered, a mad glint in his eyes. "Lestrange! Pick _that_ up," he indicated Sariss, "and then Disapparate. See you soon, Snape." And with slightly popping noises, the two Death Eaters were gone—with Sariss.

_Damn._

**~*~*~**

"Enervate!"

Sariss blinked. She felt groggy and was shivering. The ground below her was hard and stone cold. As she moved to get up, she realized that her hands were tied behind her back. Why was that? She strained her memory. Stars danced before her eyes; she felt dizzy and confused. But her drowsy mind slowly provided information that led her to the answer to her question.

She had been in Hogsmeade on her way to Honeydukes when… _Damn. Failed._

She tried to get her hands apart. They were bound palm to palm. 

_No magic. Perfect, just perfect_. _Perhaps I can break them—?_

"Took you long enough to react to the Reviving spell," Lucius Malfoy's cold drawling voice said. Sariss jumped slightly. How come she hadn't realized—? She had to escape. Somehow, she had to escape… Fly! Fly away! 

She tried to concentrate her jumbled thoughts on the required transformation. It was so hard to think clearly…

"_Te abstineo mutationem_," Malfoy continued. "No use trying to transform and fly away, my dear." 

_No!_

**Damn. Again.**

Sariss wanted to cry. Had the bastard thought of everything? Only a minute more and she would have been up in the air, flying along that corridor and she'd certainly have found a way out of this place to somewhere where she could—.

**Apparate.**

_I need a minute to calm down first. I don't want to splinch myself._

"What do you want?" she whispered cautiously, dreading the answer.

**Calm down. Don't let him see that you're afraid.**

_I'm trying. I'm trying._

"Not so brave anymore, are you? You were proving to be quite a nuisance when you were with the Ministry—but something tells me that this won't be the case for much longer. I can assure you," he breathed into her ear as he pulled her to her feet. 

She tried hard to break the restraints; the muscles in her arms and shoulders started to ache after a few seconds. 

"Magical," he sneered, noticing her efforts. "Unbreakable. Not even by you." 

_I should have stayed in bed today…_

"What do you want?" she asked again.

"I can't speak for the Dark Lord, dear, but I for my part would just love to see you dead. As dead as Seth to be exact," he hissed menacingly.

"So this is about revenge?"

"Much more than that. The master seems to regard you as a guest of honour," he said. "I wonder for how long you'll be treated like a guest."

"I don't feel like a guest at the moment, Malfoy. If you treat your guests like that, it makes me wonder how you treat your prisoners," she replied, concentrating hard, preparing for Disapparation—

She bounced right back. 

_Damn_.

"My fault. I should have informed you that there are wards to prevent Disapparating. Everyone can get in, no one can get out lest the Dark Lord allows it. Apparently, he's taken everything into account." Malfoy had an expression on his face that was somewhere between amusement and evil anticipation.

_They've beaten me at my own game. _

He shoved her forwards—no, it wasn't shoving. He had his hands on her upper arms and rather pulled her if that was possible, as he was behind her and much too close for her taste. He was literally breathing down her neck. Very suggestively, he breathed into her ear, "Check mate."

She wrenched herself out of his grasp and whirled around, angry and furious at the feelings coming from him. The bastard was enjoying himself immensely; if she hadn't already felt his emotions, the look in his eyes would have given him away. 

Sariss was even angry enough to spontaneously mentally slap him, although it didn't hurt him very much, it just astounded him; he waved the sensation on his cheek away like one would brush off a spider's web. If only she could deliberately do magic by pure thought, without her hands… 

However, she noted with relish that his cheek was actually a bit red where she had 'struck' him.

"That was you, wasn't it? Nice try, but not of much use as long as your hands are tied, is it?" he sneered and slapped her hard across the face. Hard and cruel. With the backside of his hand to make it hurt more.

She swayed and leant against the wall for support. "You unimaginable bastard," she snarled. Her face felt as though dozens of very thin needles had been stuck into every single nerve-end and pore. Had her hands been free she would have cradled her cheek in them, trying to wipe away the pain, but the way it was now… Well, at least, her lip wasn't bleeding although it felt very numb already and about twice its usual size…

He only smirked and gave her a mighty push that made her stumble forwards. Thankfully, she managed to keep her balance. It would have been too humiliating to try and get up again with her hands of no use to her, or, even worse, be pulled to her feet by this bastard once more.

She struggled again as he touched her ("Don't touch me!") but he held her in a death grip now. If her hands had been free, she would have clasped them to his throat and squeezed… Slowly… 

But the way it was, only a few torches exploded and then died. He kept pushing her forwards until they reached a large stone chamber. A very large chamber with a domed ceiling and a smooth marble-like floor, but no windows. Only the torches provided some light. A throne was sitting there. Voldemort's throne. _What a megalomaniac…_

"Now what?" Sariss asked as they came to a halt a few yards before they reached the throne.

"Now we wait, pretty one," he breathed into her ear, "although I must say that I intend to have a bit a fun with you as soon as the master is through with you—if there's something left of you to have fun with, that is."

"So I'm already dead, huh?"

"I suppose that depends on you. You might even leave this… _place_ in one piece and unharmed. A small chance—and what a pity that it's there, isn't it?" he said against her ear. She could almost feel his lips brush her ear lobe.

Sariss recoiled. "Get your filthy hands off me."

_Bastard._

**You enjoy Severus doing this very much…**

_If only _he_ were here now… But this is _Malfoy_. He's… He's disgusting. He's cold, and I don't like the smell of him. He's old enough to be my father! _

**No kidding. **

_Not much and he would be twice my age. Even for me that would be—Yuck!_

**True… Then it's not _how_ someone touches you but _who_ touches you…**

_Soon, I fear, there'll be no one touching me at all. _

**Why?**

_Tonight I think I die._

Sariss's mind was racing. _Escape_, her pulse seemed to pound constantly. _Escape. Escape_—but how? She had already tried. She couldn't Disapparate, she couldn't transform, she couldn't break free of the bonds, she couldn't even do proper magic except for a bit of spontaneous torch-killing. Granted, the slapping-thing had been quite impressive, even for her standards, but she had paid for it instantaneously. She wouldn't give Malfoy another reason to mistreat her as long as she could help it. (How long would she be capable of helping it in the first place?) He would only enjoy himself—and as long as there were no visible signs of his 'attentions', the Dark Lord wouldn't even punish him. Voldemort didn't like his 'guests' to be mistreated unless he said so. Sariss knew this. She had hunted and interrogated enough Death Eaters to know the way this man's mind worked…

"Why so reserved?" Malfoy said, his hands travelling to places on her that needn't be touched to keep her in check at all.

"I'm deeply sorry, Malfoy, but I'm not in the slightest into bondage," she snarled. "You might want to ask your _wife _instead. Does she know about your favourite pastime? Does she keep count for you? Monday: Twice Avada Kedavra. Tuesday: Unfortunately only one Cruciatus curse?" 

"She's my wife, not my priest."

_If I can hate him so much, how much must his wife hate him?_

"Don't worry. She knows all of it. The whole wizarding world knows what you do. They just can't prove it."

"You know nothing," he spat, viciously grabbing hold of her hair and forcing her to face him.

"What's the matter, Malfoy? Your wife not letting you have any?"

"Slut!" he hissed and slapped her again. Harder than he had already. Much harder. He'd struck hard enough for Sariss to stumble backwards and drop to the ground, hitting her head on a step in the process.

**Why don't you ever learn to keep your big mouth shut?**

_Ouch…_

**Now think, Sariss, think… **

_I… I don't think I can think of anything…_

No thought would come. Blank. Her mind was blank. 

**Me neither. No idea. Wait. Wait for him to come. Wait for him to finally kill you. After all those years… **

_Wait. And wait some more…_

**Well, at least you might get some answers… **

_Oh, I only wish I were at home…_

**~*~**

_5th September 1980, 9:30 am; somewhere in the Welsh countryside…_

_Sariss was woken up by a soft hand smoothing over her hair, a voice whispering her name._

_She opened her eyes and blinked. A face looked back at her. A beautiful face with large brown eyes and dark brown curls falling slightly past the woman's shoulders. "Hmm? Mum."_

_"Happy Birthday, honey. Look what I've got for you." She smiled._

_Sariss sat up, smiling, too, and throwing her arms around her mother. "What is it, Mum?"_

_Her mother handed her a letter with a red seal. An address was written on it with green ink. It was not the address of where they lived. They were in hiding after all. It must have been left somewhere else and her mother had gone off to get it. "The letter from Hogwarts," they said in unison. "In a bit less than a year you will go there and be safe at last."_

_"Why aren't we hiding there already if it's so safe?"_

_"If everyone who was in hiding were to go there it would be quite full there. It would make Hogwarts even more of a target than it already is. And as strong as the wards are… if they were breached with all of us in there, we'd all be dead within the blink of an eye. It's safer the way it is now," her mother reassured her. "Don't you worry. Voldemort won't find our Secret Keeper… And now get up and dressed. I have a present waiting for you."_

_Sariss jumped up. Her braids flying behind her as she jumped out of the bed, smiling from ear to ear, she quickly grabbed some clothes and was ready in only a few minutes._

_"That was quite fast."_

_"What is it, Mum?"_

_"Close your eyes, honey." Sariss did so and was led into the adjacent room. _

_"Can I look now?"_

_"Not yet…" There was a rustling and a hissing sound. "Now you can look."_

_Sariss opened her eyes. A small chocolate cake was sitting on the table, a candle flickering merrily in the middle of it. 'Happy 10th Birthday' was written on it in scarlet and green icing._

_Sariss beamed. "Mum, this is great. Thank you."_

_"Make a wish," the woman that was her mother said, pushing her down into the chair._

_Sariss looked at her mother, thought for a moment, closed her eyes, took a deep breath and—_

_The door burst open. The candle went out. And a hooded figure walked in._

_"No, not you, not now," Sariss's mother said, pulling out her wand, grabbing Sariss by the arm and pushing her behind her to shield her from the figure's view._

_"Stand aside. You knew I'd find you one day although I had to tear your location out of your Secret Keeper by force. I always knew he was a stubborn bastard—and too loyal for his own good… A typical Gryffindor," the figure mused quietly. "Now leave. I only want her." At that he looked at Sariss and the little girl that had been clinging to her mother crawled away into the farthest corner of the room._

_"No! You can't have her!" the woman shouted and launched herself at him, wand completely forgotten and probably not of much use anyway against this… this disgusting thing of a man._

_"Mum!" the girl screamed, tears running down her face, frantically scanning the room for something to defend her with, for an exit that was not blocked by the horrible figure that was now looming over her mother pointing his wand at her._

_"If that's what you want," he said casually, "Avada Kedavra!"_

_A flash of green light illuminated the room as the woman slumped to the ground. "Mum! No! Mum!" Sariss sobbed, stopping dead in her tracks to get to her mother when the figure started to approach her. The man reached out for her with his claw-like hands…_

_And Sariss screamed and screamed. At the top of her lungs she screamed for her mother, anyone who would hear her—until the hands grabbed her and held her mouth shut. She stared around wildly, feeling as though she'd never blink again, struggling and kicking. "Don't be afraid," the figure hissed in this high-pitched voice that made every single one of the hairs on her body stand on end. "I am here to give you a birthday present."_

_Then he took his hand away from her mouth and grabbed her throat instead. "Rosier! Wilkes! Assist me!" he shouted._

_Sariss still struggled and screamed as much as his hand on her throat would allow her. She dug her fingers into his wrist, but simply was too small and weak to only loosen the firm grasp of the monster. Tears were streaming down her face. Those red eyes looked into hers as though they wanted to pierce her soul._

_"Shut up!" the man with the red eyes yelled and the little girl flinched, but didn't stop struggling. "Stop screaming already! Rosier! Wilkes! Get a move on! Bring it to me! NOW!"_

_Two more figures rushed through the open doorway. One of them carried a steaming goblet. It smelt dreadful. Its stench penetrated the entire room._

_"Seize her!" the man said to the other man. "Rosier, give me the potion."_

_The red-eyed man took the goblet as soon as the man that must be Wilkes had taken hold of the little girl._

_"Will you keep still, bloody little brat!" he yelled and shook the little girl that was Sariss, as she tried to wrench herself out of his grasp—not that she'd have had a chance._

_The man called Rosier came to his assistance. They had her in a death grip._

_Sariss had screamed herself hoarse by now. Only small rasping sobs escaped her lips. "Mum! Mum, please! Please, Mum, get up, please, help me," she croaked, beyond reason, as the man brought the goblet towards Sariss's face. She started kicking again and landed a few good hits to the man's knees and shins, not enough to make him stumble but he winced a bit. "You! You little bitch!" He grabbed her throat again. "Drink!"_

_Sariss pressed her mouth into a thin line and screwed her eyes shut. Whatever this was, it smelt awful. She wouldn't drink a drop of this disgusting stuff. No way._

_He squeezed her throat a bit tighter until she had to gasp for air and then he poured the glittering silverfish-grey liquid into her mouth and forced her to swallow._

_Sariss's body was wrecked with shudders and then she collapsed to the floor, as the men had released her. Gasping for air and coughing she looked at the leader who brandished his wand once more. She wanted to be sick. The potion had tasted even worse than it smelt. It had tasted like something dead. No. Worse. Like death itself._

_He waved it, then pointed it first at himself and then at her and said clearly audibly, "Delego Facultatem."_

_Sariss felt as though she were hit in the chest by a cannon ball and was thrown against the wall by invisible forces, gasping for air once more as the impact had pressed it out of her lungs quite thoroughly. But it wasn't only that. Her whole body seemed to be burning at first and then it felt as though it turned to ice. She felt so cold all of a sudden, as though she were dying of cold. Whimpering, she curled up into a small ball, clutching her knees, which she had drawn to her chest as closely as possible._

_Noises could be heard from outside. Curses were being shouted. But the girl hardly noticed any differences in the curses or the voices. It was like a badly tuned radio. Voices overlapped and echoed, curses and screams, shouting and yelling and rumbling noises…_

_"Master, we must leave. The Aurors have come, too many of them," a man's voice shouted. "Hurry, my Lord."_

_The man with the red eyes turned around, startled. Another man had stumbled into the room. The man he had addressed with 'Master' nodded and he left again._

_"Rosier, take hold of her and then prepare to Disapparate on my signal," he said quickly, and the man he'd addressed grabbed her roughly by the arm and yanked her to her feet. For a moment, Sariss felt very dizzy and couldn't focus her eyes on anything. "We'll have to finish the ritual somewhere else."_

_"Let go of me! Don't touch me!" she screeched when she realized that they meant to take her away to do something else to her._

_The man with the red eyes nodded to his companions._

_They now prepared to Disapparate. Sariss had seen her mother do so on several occasions. She could Disapparate from home but had to come back by Floo or the ordinary way. Anyway, that's why she knew what they were doing. And she knew that she would be Disapparated along with them as long as one of them had hold of her. She had to escape, somehow…_

_Thus she gathered all the strength she could muster, waited for the moment shortly before the man would be unable to stop the process of Disapparation and wrenched her arm forcefully out of the man's grasp. A sickening crack could be heard and the man gave a scream of anger as well as pain before he disappeared with a faint popping noise. He had let go of her. Just in time._

_The little girl had broken his wrist._

_Sariss slumped to the ground again, crawling towards the unmoving form of her mother when two more men rushed through the doorway. They, too, wore black robes, but they also wore the insignia of the Ministry of Magic on their robes._

_They quickly scanned the room to make sure that no evil wizard was there anymore. Then they looked at Sariss who broke into relieved sobs as soon as she realized that they were probably here to help, that they had driven off the evil men who had hurt her mother and made her drink that awful stuff and had cast this strange curse onto her…_

_"It's alright," one of the Aurors said, rushing to her side. "You're safe now."_

_"I want my mum," Sariss cried. "Mum!" She moved to get to her, but the Auror gently held her back._

_"Sweetheart, there's nothing that could be done," he whispered, looking firmly into her eyes; his hands equally firmly on her shoulders. "Your mother is in heaven."_

_That was the moment when the realization sank in, the moment when Sariss couldn't hold back the tears any longer. When the tears earlier had been those of fear and fury, these were ones of sorrow. She threw herself into the man's arms who lifted her from the ground as though she weighed nothing, and cried miserably. So miserably that even the man carrying her and whispering words of comfort swallowed hard. Sariss felt that he was almost as shaken as she was. Indeed, it was as though it weren't just her own feelings that made her cry. More and more emotions enveloped her, seeped into her._

_"Shh, they're gone. You're safe," the man tried to comfort her. "We're taking you away from here in a moment, alright?" He set her on the floor again. Sariss sniffed and bit her lip, large tears running down the skinny little girl's face._

_The other Auror had picked up the body of her mother. He carried her very carefully, as though she were only asleep, but her arm dangled limply at her side. The man threw Sariss a glance so full of pity that it was almost unbearable. Genuine pity. It felt heartbreaking to the little girl. Then he walked through the doorway and took the body that had once been Electra Ravon away._

_"Mum!" Sariss screamed at the top of her lungs. "Mum! Please come back! Come back—!"_

_A strong breeze seemed to start blowing through the house…_

_"Sweetie, there's—."_

_The windows exploded with loud crashing sounds; shards of glass flew everywhere._

_Sariss screamed and put her hands over her ears. _

_The wind was howling through the openings that had once been the windows…_

_"What the—?"_

_Sariss couldn't breathe…_

_The whole house rocked in its foundations. Plaster crumbled from the ceiling. "Make it stop!" she screamed, her own voice echoing inside her head._

_"You're doing this, aren't you?"_

_Cracks appeared in the walls. _

_"Please, stop it, child. You'll hurt someone. You could kill us if you don't stop."_

_The grabbed her around the shoulders and shook her, pleading with her to stop whatever it was that she was doing. She stared at him wide-eyed, no, not _at_ him, _through_ him._

_The torches flared up, exploded and then died. The curtains had caught fire… _

_But that couldn't be… The torches were charmed to not burn things…_

_Plaster was raining from the ceiling…_

Slap! 

_Sariss blinked, astounded. The man had slapped her right across the face. But strange as it was, suddenly she could think clearly again. "I'm—."_

_"Sorry, sweetie, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you, do you understand?" he asked softly and drew her into a hug, gently rubbing her back for a moment before he moved to look at her again. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"_

_Sariss rubbed her prickling cheek. "Not really… Did I…" she faltered, looking around at the devastation she'd apparently caused._

_"Fire…" she whispered. The chest of drawers was starting to burn, but the man merely looked at it for a short moment before returning his attention to her._

_"Has this happened before?" the man asked._

_"No, mum… mum was always angry when I did accidental magic. I never did something like that," she sniffed. "I want my mum back…"_

_"Hey, little one. Are you going to tell me your name or do you want me to guess?" the man tried to sound casual when he clearly wasn't._

_"Sariss," she croaked. "Sariss Ravon."_

_"I'm Frank Longbottom. Just call me Frank, okay? And the guy standing over there with the very distressed expression on his face is Mundungus Fletcher," he forced a smile._

_"Hi, love." Fletcher nodded and smiled sadly. He must have come back as soon as…_

_Sariss, too, tried to plaster a smile onto her face. It was a faint smile. Then she sniffed. Smiling now kind of made her ache all over when she didn't feel like it at all. She thought she'd never feel like smiling again. Everyone around was so very sad and angry that she could hardly feel something of her own. This was so strange. She felt as though she weren't there at all, only the others. Only pain…_

_"Get the girl out of here, Frank. I'll put out the fire," Fletcher said._

_Sariss choked on another sob. "Help me, sir. What have they done to me?" she whimpered._

_"I don't know, love, I don't know." Frank sighed. "Now come, let's go. This is no place for you to stay in those times. We'll take you to a safe house…"_

_He lifted her and carried her out of the house. Sariss buried her face in his shoulder to not have to look back. She knew she would never return there… _

_She would never return home…_

**~*~**

Malfoy roughly pulled her to her feet. The world was spinning around her for quite a few moments before she got it back into focus.

And then they waited. It seemed like hours when it couldn't have been more than a few minutes.

After a time that seemed so terribly long that Sariss would have loved to simply slump back down to the floor, for the sole reason of not having to be so close to the sneering bastard that was Malfoy, he groaned with pain and let go of her for a moment to clutch his arm. 

_They're coming…_

Popping noises announced the arrival of the first Death Eaters. One by one, they appeared and arranged in a loose circle. 

Then one of them stepped forward and walked towards her and Malfoy—who had his hands on her again and was still clutching her with his filthy fingers. She had a very strong presentiment of what he would most likely just love to do to her if it weren't for the Dark Lord to interrogate her first. Sariss had no illusions regarding her fate. This would be it. Goodbye, cruel world. No one could be lucky enough to survive a second encounter with the Dark Lord—unless you were Harry Potter, of course.

The Death Eater nodded at Malfoy who nodded in return. The two of them positioned themselves on either side of her, however slightly behind her, and placed their hands on both her arms and shoulders.

After another minute, the Dark Lord appeared and with him another Death Eater who was nursing his arm. Apparently, Voldemort had used him for calling the others. 

"Into your place, Nott."

Bowing, the man made his way to a gap in the circle. The two remaining gaps were closed. Obviously, those were the places usually occupied by the ones who held her. Then, all but the two Death Eaters on either side of her knelt down and whispered, "Master."

Voldemort moved towards his throne with billowing, sweeping, robes, striding as though he were invincible, almighty.

He was very thin—one could only see this when he was walking, the way his robes hung on him—barely more than skin and bones… and Evil. He looked as though he were only kept alive by magic, Dark and arcane magic, which most likely was exactly so.

"You! Take her wand from her," he commanded, pointing his bony finger at one of his servants, and the person he had addressed did so. It was the Death Eater to her right. He reached into her right sleeve and pulled the wand out. Sariss flinched at his touch. It seemed to linger still although he had retreated already. _How could he know…?_

Then he presented it to the Dark Lord who only nodded. Thus, the Death Eater pocketed the wand. Sariss couldn't see his face. It was completely hidden by the hood and the gloom that surrounded them. Only a few torches on the walls illuminated the room now, a ghastly lighting, as though they were in a tomb…

Actually, the wand-thing was of little to no meaning. He must have known this as well as she did. It was just a gesture, a symbol that he could take everything away from her now, should he want to do so. First, her wand. Last, her life.

Voldemort smiled. It was a smile that could freeze the blood in your veins. Thin-lipped, cold, evil. He pointed his wand at her and said casually, "Claudo veneficium." She felt as though chains had been put around her chest and stomach… She was a bit dizzy. Strange. She closed her eyes for a moment and shook her head to clear her mind.

And then one of the Death Eaters freed her from her bonds—a surprising but not completely unexpected action.

She moved to rub her aching and throbbing wrists but the men still held her. She could have broken out of their grasp easily—but it didn't seem a very wise thing to do with Voldemort pointing his wand at her and about two dozens of his loyal servants lurking in the proximity. She knew more than enough Latin to understand what that spell had done, why her hands were not bound anymore: For a limited time, it had locked her magic inside her so she couldn't use it. If she fought now, even if she dodged the spells, it would nonetheless take only one single spell to get through and stun her—it had already happened once…

_Trapped_.

"Doesn't she remind you of the Prodigal Son, Lucius? The child returning to the father's side after having had a taste of life, reality?" the Dark Lord spoke up, a small evil smile twitching at the corners of his thin-lipped mouth.

"I am but your creation; and I do not have the slightest intention to _return_ to your side—I've never been there and I won't ever be," Sariss hissed. There was nothing to lose by being disrespectful, nothing to gain by exchanging niceties.

He took a step towards her, reaching towards her face with his spidery fingers. She would have recoiled if Lucius Malfoy and the other one hadn't had her in a death grip. Thus, all she could do without making them curse her just yet, was turn her face away from him and wince as he undid her hair so it fell down all around her like a cloak and then ran one of his fingernails slowly down her cheek, almost like a caress…

"What went wrong that you stand against me?" Voldemort whispered. "My beauty. Have I not given you power beyond all imagination? Do people not respect you for what you can do, for your many talents?"

"Respect me?" she laughed mirthlessly, jerking her hair out of her face "No, you don't even know what that means. What you're referring to is if they fear me. And that many did, many still do. But not because of my deeds, only because of what I am like. Having experienced your reign of terror they don't understand that power doesn't necessarily lead to evil, to the suffering of others, to death…"

"How pathetic. Just like your mother used to—" 

"And you're the one who killed her!" she interrupted. Oh, yes, she'd dared to interrupt him; she enjoyed the expression this insolence made flicker over his face for the mere fraction of a second. But the Dark Lord regained his composure much more quickly than she would have liked. He pretended he hadn't heard her statement. 

"If you join me, I could—," he continued, seemingly unaffected.

"I'll never join you." She'd done it again. "Wasn't it enough that you made my life a living hell? What was in the damned potion you forced down my throat? What was that spell you used for? We were never able to figure out the _full_ extent of what it did to me."

Voldemort ignored what she'd just said. "Join me. Let us rule the wizarding world together—Join me and I will give you the world to do with it as you please."

"I have no use for the world. All I ever wanted is a plain, simple life…"

"Stupid child! You really think you can fight me?" Voldemort roared. It made her flinch. "I may have provided you with a much greater ability to perform magic than I ever had—who would have thought how much of myself you already had in you…"

"I am nothing like you!" she snarled defiantly.

"Oh, but yes, you are; a great deal actually," he whispered, leaning close to her. "You even look quite like I once did from a certain point of view—I can see that now—although there's also quite some resemblance to your mother; you have your mother's eyes, after all… and your voice resembles hers…" Her eyes widened at what he was insinuating. "Yes," he hissed in that high-pitched voice that had made braver witches and wizards than her shiver in fear of what was to come, "you are mine. My creation. My flesh and blood. My daughter. Sariss Electra Riddle, I am your father."

"No… No, that's not possible, that's not true. It can't be…" She was trembling now as though one had dropped a bucketful of cold water over her and she felt that way, too. She couldn't think clearly anymore, couldn't speak, couldn't move—even if she hadn't been restrained by the two Death Eaters she couldn't have. In fact, they were the only things that kept her upright at all; one of them had just tightened the grip on her arm. He must have felt her sway…

All Sariss could do was screwing her eyes shut, holding back tears of anger, fury and hate—feelings that were directed not only at him but also at herself and, which was strange, a terrible sadness she could not quite tell where it came from. 

_Monstrous_, she thought. _I am even more monstrous than I thought I was._

"Why else would I have increased your powers so drastically if not to make you my greatest asset? The loving daughter by her father's side." He was very close to her as he said this. Then he retreated a few steps and continued, "Very unfortunate that my former teacher realized who and above all _whose_ you are and took you to Hogwarts—the only place to keep you safe from me! Curious that he allowed you to attend school at all, knowing who you are, isn't it?" The Dark Lord sounded as though he were deep in thought now. "And then it happened. That fateful Halloween night that spoilt my plans. I remember it clearly… The green light of Avada Kedavra hurtling towards me…" he trailed off. Then he snapped out of it and shifted his attention back to her.

"You want to know what that spell did?" he changed the subject abruptly. "It gave you power, but I guess you and that old fool Dumbledore already figured that out… You're much more interested in knowing what that potion did, aren't you?" Sariss nodded mechanically. "Ah, yes, the spell combined with the potion I so eloquently named the 'Angel potion,' although that expression does not do justice to it …" he trailed off once again, absent-mindedly brushing a rebellious strand of her hair out of her face, almost—lovingly… A fatherly gesture… Sariss shuddered involuntarily. 

_Angel potion…_

"I feel generous today. You shall have your answers, since it won't make any difference anyway," he spoke. "You have the most valuable and feared… talents, if you want to put it that way… combined in a beautiful body. Parseltongue, no need of a wand—you surely have discovered that you do quite well without a wand; that's why Dumbledore hired you, isn't it? To teach that Potter brat some more tricks? —But I digress. I even provided you with the ability to withstand the Killing Curse itself much better than I ever could! In your creation I've surpassed the great Salazar Slytherin himself, if I dare say so; a beautiful, deadly weapon, for the greatest part human, but for a very small, yet not unimportant part…" he paused for emphasis, "…a Dementor, capable of performing—" his voice that had increased in volume during his monologue now dropped to a soft whisper as he all but breathed the following words—"the _Kiss_…"

Now her legs wouldn't carry her anymore; her knees buckled, and the Dark Lord nodded—a silent command to his servants to release her—causing her to drop almost soundlessly to the cold, so very cold, marble-like floor. _Angel potion, Angel potion…_ her pulse hammered in her temples. _Dementor, Dementor, Dementor… The Kiss, the Kiss, the Kiss… _She found herself incapable to close her eyes. Wide-eyed she stared into nothingness, past her hands touching the floor, past the floor itself, right past the centre of the Earth, nothingness…

"You do not have their weaknesses—too little of them inside you to give you away as the creature you are. Yet I gave you their strength—."

"Monster. Inhuman. Dead," Sariss muttered.

"And look how you've repaid me, denied me and betrayed me…" Voldemort lowered himself to one knee and bent down to her, tilting her face up, forcing her to look into his eyes. A tear slithered down her cheek like a little snake. "You know, I wouldn't be able to touch you if you weren't my daughter—if part of my soul wasn't in you. Your mother died protecting you just like Potter's mother, after all… But you are my flesh, blood and soul—and you are a lethal weapon!"

She was breathing heavily now, dry choking sobs escaping her quivering, parchment-dry lips. Yet, she did not speak up.

The Dark Lord continued, barely audible except by those closest to him which were Sariss and supposedly the two Death Eaters who'd had restrained her until only a minute or so ago.

"I thought it would be such an irony… having my enemies killed by my beautiful, oh so very beautiful daughter, my angel, sucking their souls out in a moment when they least expected danger…" he trailed off, getting up and striding towards his throne, turning his back on her.

"I'd rather die than serve you," she forced out, having gathered her wits enough to be able to form a coherent sentence that was, however, interrupted by shuddering breaths. She willed her body to cooperate and stood up. She was so furious suddenly, and—realizing that her hands were free and hoping that the spell had, with any luck, worn off already—she lifted her wand hand and tried to smash the Dark Lord into the ground, into the wall, anywhere… However, she couldn't… She couldn't do magic. The observing, distant, part of her mind analysed the situation and stated the obvious, declaring, _The spell hasn't worn off, Sariss. _The other part of her mind was silent, in shock that she was defenceless. If anything, she had always relied on her powers; they had made her as good as invulnerable—but not anymore, not now that she needed them most. 

_Defenceless._

But there was no longer time to ponder her hopeless situation since Voldemort, her father, shouted, "Crucio!"

And the curse hit her in the chest with full impact. She clenched her teeth together as the pain sliced through her body like a dozen white-hot knives; she'd never felt anything like this before. It was agony, pain, as if she was dying again and again only to come back and be killed over and over again. She hadn't even realized that she'd dropped to the floor, writhing and convulsing, biting down on her lip so hard that she drew blood, when all of a sudden the pain stopped as suddenly as it had come. Gasping for breath, she opened her eyes, only to find Voldemort standing over her, his hand extended towards her as though he wanted to be a gentleman and help her to her feet.

However, this was not so, since he said, "You just have to take my hand and it will stop forever. You don't have to die. I would rather see you alive—by my side." His voice was casual and quiet, dangerously quiet.

Sariss hated him at this moment—more than she had ever hated anyone before—not even him when she hadn't been aware of her heritage and her utter defencelessness as she was now.

"Get it over with. Do it. I'm already dead. This will only be a formality," she said, defiantly scrambling to her feet again. If she were to die, she'd die upright, looking into his eyes as he cast the curse that would kill her. It wouldn't be Avada Kedavra. He'd said she was able to withstand it. It would be something else… She had no idea what it would be—but it would certainly be one of the more painful curses, one of the curses that were not unforgivable, since they didn't just make the victim drop dead to the ground, but killed slowly instead. She wouldn't give him the pleasure to hear her plead for her life. He had taken her life already. Then he'd given her another one—this life he'd given back to her, a cursed life, a life she'd never wanted… And now he would take it—and everything else—away again.

"Your wish is my command," he hissed. "Either way I'll have what's mine. But let's proceed a bit more… _slowly_." 

The tone of his voice chilled her to the bone but she tried not to show it, keeping her face as blank as possible, as the Dark Lord stepped towards her again and grabbed her around the throat. Sariss took hold of his wrist, then pulled and squeezed, willing him to let go of her, which he did—lucky for him; she would have broken his arms had he held on just a little longer—but not after he'd sneered at her, his face only inches away from hers, "You think you're not going to scream, don't you?" He gave a short laugh. "But you will. You will scream. You'll beg me to end it more quickly—but I won't heed to your wishes; I'll only listen to the music of your agony."

He stepped back, pointed his wand at her and shouted, "Flagello!"

She had no idea what the spell was supposed to do when he cast it. After a second, however, she knew it as soon as the first blow hit her. A whipping and beating curse.

She bit back a scream and swayed, trying to regain her balance, but finally as more blows stuck her, she couldn't keep upright anymore, no matter how hard she tried. So she dropped to her knees when another blow hit her, and another, and another…

Then it stopped. Exhaling the air she had held for much too long a time, she breathed something akin to a sigh of relief. She realized that she had instinctively curled up into a ball to give the curse as little surface as possible to strike. Her body was tingling all over—something between pain and numbness—it felt strange. But it didn't last for long, as Voldemort shouted, "Mordeo!" and invisible knives started cutting into her body, tearing her robes as they did so. Sariss felt something wet on her body, wet and somewhat warm—blood, she realized as she weakly lifted her hand to check what it was.

"Contundo!" she heard Voldemort yell. At that, invisible forces lifted her up and started beating her. That and the wounds that had already been inflicted upon her caused her such immense pain that she couldn't withstand the urge to scream any longer, as she was smashed to the ground, bruised, beaten, broken. She felt like dying. It couldn't get worse. It wasn't possible…

He kept hurling curse upon curse at her. Her body was purgatory. She felt like being ripped apart from the inside and outside at the same time.

_Let me die. Please, let me die…_

"Finite Incantatem," the Dark Lord sneered. 

Sariss heard a scream break off quite suddenly, its aftermath echoing off the walls of the vast chamber for some long moments… It was her own scream although it sounded impossible to her ears. A human throat simply wasn't capable of making such a sound, was it? But then she remembered that this was just an empty phrase. No matter what she might look like, she was not human. She was less human than anything she could think off.

In a way, it was good that it would end now. She was almost thankful for it. If only she weren't so afraid…

"See? I told you you'd scream for me." 

She swallowed as she saw the Dark Lord reaching for something inside his robes. The coppery taste of her own blood made her gag, and Sariss brought her shaking, aching hand to her face to wipe away the liquid that trickled down her cheeks and forehead to keep it from running into her eyes. A sharp pain raced up her arm when she brushed the back of her hand over her brows. She forced her eyes to open and to focus on her now wet hand to have a look at what the liquid was and why her hand hurt so much. 

_Blood and tears…_

And her hand was so awfully swollen and bleeding too. Her whole body was in agony. That might be the reason why she hadn't felt her hands ache. Come to think of it, there were several parts of her body she didn't feel hurting. 

_Numb. _

Sariss choked on her blood. It forced further tears to come. She hated the sounds she made. Those whimpers. Like a wounded dog. She hated herself for them.

Blood dripped out of her mouth when she coughed once more. She felt a stab in her chest. 

_A rib. Maybe more. Broken. Pierced through my lung… I think._

**Don't move too much. Else, you're going to suffocate on your own blood…**

_Oh gods! Help me!_

"As we all know, I can't kill you with Avada Kedavra—that would be much too simple anyway, even if I could," the Dark Lord mused in a horribly casual tone of voice. "And I won't kill you with another curse either," he added. "I rather am of the opinion that this calls for something just slightly more classical…" Voldemort had started pacing around her. Watching him out of her half closed eyelids made her feel dizzy; back and forth, back and forth…

Sariss saw something silvery glint in the Dark Lord's hands. He kind of played with the object. She forced her body to obey and managed to haul herself up a little—it made her choke—then she once more strained her eyes to see better—but a second later she almost wished she hadn't. He would kill her the old-fashioned way, the Muggle way. A simple dagger, so very simple, yet it struck terror into her heart such as she'd never known. She'd never thought she'd die like this, defenceless and all—she'd always thought she'd die in battle… 

"Oh my god…" she whispered so softly that none of the people around her could possibly have heard her. She just hadn't enough strength to speak any louder or more. Her voice was hoarse from screaming; her lips dry except for the blood, that was trickling down her cheek and coming up when she couldn't withstand the urge to cough, staining her lips. She must be looking ghastly—like a vampire—as she half-lay, half-sat there, a heap of blood, flesh, bone, hair, cloth and pure unadulterated hatred.

"Now, who shall be the one to kill you? Myself perhaps…" Lord Voldemort mused in a voice as devoid of emotions as though he were commenting on the weather. "No, I don't think so, I would deny myself the pleasure of watching you being killed by one of my loyal servants. Now, who shall it be…" he trailed off, scanning the crowd of the about two dozen Death Eaters assembled in an almost perfect circle around them. 

"No, this is no task for one of the others," he said turning to face the men who still stood near her. "Would you have the honour of serving me, Lucius?" He studied Lucius Malfoy's pale sneering face for a moment before turning away to face the other Death Eater she didn't recognize as he had neither lowered his hood nor turned his face towards her so that she could have seen it. "Or will it be you?" 

"What do you want me to do, my Lord?" The voice sounded so eerily familiar… Was she hallucinating already? 

A slow evil smile spread over Voldemort's face. "Ah yes!" he exclaimed. "What an irony… So very taken as you seemed to be with her… It should be you—," the Dark Lord shot Sariss a meaningful glace and a nasty smile, "lower your hood—Severus."

At the mention of this name, she forced herself up on her knees, forgetting about the stinging in her chest. A shocked expression started spreading over her face—she could feel it crawling there like dozens of little spiders—as the figure the Dark Lord had addressed with the very name she'd whispered lovingly dozens of times during the last few weeks, lowered his hood, apparently avoiding looking at her. Now she felt not just defenceless and dying—at the very moment he had revealed his face, she could add betrayed and used to the list of the emotions she was feeling. It hurt more than the Torturing Curses she'd gone through. For once in her life, she had tried to trust someone else but Dumbledore. Yes, in fact she'd come to trust Severus as much as Dumbledore himself apparently did. She hadn't cared that Severus had been a Death Eater once. If the headmaster trusted him, he must have returned to the Light side. She had actually begun to feel safe and protected when he was near. She had come to believe that, despite his past, he was a good man. Such she had thought… 

"Yes, it is he," the Dark Lord said with a hint of amusement in his voice. "Isn't it ironic? You being betrayed by one of the few people that do not fear you, that do not visibly recoil from the coldness of your touch… someone you trusted… Perhaps you even _loved_ him?" he hissed, dramatically overemphasizing the word 'loved'. "But I would not know, would I? And now I shall never know, because this is the day you die." He pronounced every syllable so sharply and clearly that his every word cut like a knife. "I will not give you the opportunity to spoil my plans."

Sariss tried to catch Severus's eye, silently pleading with him, denying the obvious. Despite everything she'd told herself—and him—over and over again, she'd have trusted Severus Snape with her life. As much as she trusted Dumbledore.

_Dumbledore… He trusts him… He doesn't know… _

The Dark Lord handed the dagger to Snape who took it with a slight bow. "Do with her as you please, Severus, and then dispose of her. Treason of this extent doesn't merit a clean death. This thing is not my daughter."

_Do with her as you please…_

Sariss struggled to get up when she saw Snape accept the weapon. She choked again. Her eyesight had become reddish and blurry by now; a thin crimson veil seemed to have settled over the world. Snape's usually pallid face was tinged crimson. Everything around her seemed to be drenched in crimson blood…

_No, Severus, you can't_… _Not like this…_

"Yes, my Lord." 

_No!_

Voldemort had obviously become aware of her efforts since he called out, "Crucio!" and her body was wrecked with pain once more, her screams echoing in her own ears.

She slumped to the ground, not in a state to even consider defending herself an option any longer. Yet, she tried to scramble away, whimpering because of the stabs of pain she felt at every single motion, but just didn't have the strength to do so anymore. 

He'd prevented her from transforming; he'd cast a spell to hinder her from performing any magic; he'd drained her very body so completely that all of the strength she had been so used to seemed to be gone. 

He'd broken her.

He'd won.

All she wanted was to be left alone. Peace… 

_It won't take long_, she tried to reassure herself. She felt herself passing into delirium. _I'll all be over in an instant_. 

If she had meant something—not even very much, just a little—to him at all, Severus would make it quick—hopefully. It couldn't have been just an act; not all of it, could it? She would have known, wouldn't she? Her feverish mind still held onto life—frantically, it refused to shut down. It still fought against the inevitable.

Sariss's eyelids drooped. She fought to keep them open. Her eyes were to haunt him every time he closed his eyes. 

**Yes, suffer. You'll never spend another night sleeping peacefully. And if I have to come back as a ghost to haunt you…**

_Let it be over._

Delirium. She couldn't will her eyes to focus properly on the Potions master. A thousand thoughts raced through her mind. It seemed to overload. 

She had known it would do no good to let herself fall in love. Everything in her had advised against it. 

She should have listened to her first impulse… 

Run…

She should have known…

That was what it came down to in the end…

She should never have come back to Hogwarts. She could be anywhere else. Far away from this war. Far away from Voldemort… 

Far from knowing who her father was…

Far from knowing what had happened…

Far from knowing who she was, what she was…

_Some things you're better off not knowing…_

Far from knowing what the kiss of a man felt like…

Far from knowing what his breath on her skin felt like…

Far from knowing what his touch felt like—and she could vaguely remember one or two instants when she had longed for him to—

_Oh, gods, not like this… No…_

"Please," she whimpered chokingly. 

_Please, Severus, please…_

She couldn't think of anything else to say. Empty was her mind. Finally. Completely blank—save for those two words… 

_Please, Severus…_

Suddenly, the pain was gone… If this was what death felt like, she welcomed it. At least it would end. All of it. No more pain. No more tears…

The Dark Lord's high-pitched laughter sounded strangely muffled to her ears. Yet Snape's footsteps seemed so loud that she could almost feel the earth shake at every single step he took towards her…

The last thing she saw before she blacked out, as though she were looking through a dirty stained-glass window—the blood loss, pain, injuries and shock taking their toll—was the black-robed figure of the Potions master advancing on her, the dagger raised, ready to plunge it into her heart, his other hand reaching into the folds of his robes.

"Severus," she heard herself say as though from far away. "Please…"

Then there was darkness.

**Next chapter:**

Snape's POV on things. Harry has a nightmare, Dumbledore learns about it, and Severus gets emotional. Awww…__


	20. I Can't Change

**Author's note:** Thanks go to Jenna (I'm sorry if I caused you a nervous breakdown) and Miriam, the Gryffindor who begged and pleaded with me, a Slytherin.

Chapter 19: I Can't Change

**_I've been cheated I've been wronged, and you   
You don't know me, yeah, well, I can't change   
I won't do anything at all…_**

_--Matchbox 20: Push_

Severus Snape stood there, watching silently what happened, trying to plaster a mask of calmness and indifference, perhaps even glee, upon his face, so as not to give away his inner uproar.

He wondered if she knew that the Dark Lord had just rendered her defenceless. Although he had never even heard of the spell Voldemort had used he knew enough Latin to know what it must have done. Why else would the Dark Lord have commanded them to free her from the bonds around her wrists that had kept her hands tied up so she couldn't use magic? Who would have thought that he feared her so much that he'd devised a spell to render her defenceless?

And the Dark Lord continued speaking, taunting her, playing with her… 

_His daughter?! _Severus's mind raced. _Oh my god…_

And she had had no idea of it. All her life she had been so deeply scared of her own father, a father who had hurt her, a father who had killed his own father because he had never given him the crucial love only a parent could give his child…

_Sariss, oh, Sariss._

Severus involuntarily tightened his grip on her arm.

But the Dark Lord still spoke, now about what had happened seventeen years ago, explaining to her why he had done what he had done. How the whole procedure had worked, what it had done to her, how he had given her power…

Voldemort told her many things… but not everything. What he _did _explain, however, made some pieces of an intricate puzzle fall into place. Severus's mind was still racing, jumping here and there, trying to put the remaining pieces into their respective places…

_The potion… _

Voldemort had not told her that Severus had assisted in creating it. Severus had learnt a lot about potions then…

But why should he tell her about this at all? All Severus had done was finding out how to extract the magical abilities from a person's body and develop a potion that would transfer them to the person the potion was administered to—a small contribution, not important enough to be worth mentioning perhaps? But to Severus it was of much greater importance now than he would ever have thought it could ever be, even only a few months ago. He had never known that by researching this, he had provided the Dark Lord with the basis knowledge to do with it… THIS! And naming it 'Angel potion' as though it served the purpose of creating a heavenly being when he'd wanted to create a demon…

Never had the thought even crossed his mind that Voldemort would use the knowledge quite the way he had done it. Severus had suspected that the Dark Lord would try using it on Muggle-born wizards or the ones who fought him… 

The Dark Lord had been intent on being shown how it basically worked and had then continued working on it in secret. Alone. No one had been told about what Voldemort had been up to… No one.

Severus had been young then, barely out of school… And, goodness, had he ever been as naïve as that? Now that he could analyse the events in retrospect, it showed all too clearly that Severus had not cared about the suffering he'd create by serving the Dark Lord. 

He felt guilty. He hated himself. Another one of the small mistakes that had destroyed a life… He might as well have brewed the potion himself and forced it down the little girl's throat! It wouldn't have made any difference…

_For a very small, yet not unimportant part—a Dementor…_

The Dark Lord nodded and Severus released Sariss's arm. She dropped to the ground. 

If he could have dared to do this, he would have slapped his forehead. He should have noticed the signs, shouldn't he? Now that he knew what had been wrong with her all the time, he suddenly found himself incredibly blind and stupid. The signs had been there all the time, hadn't they? Yet, it had only been a very small part of the Dementor… and Dumbledore hadn't noticed it either! Everyone knew that Dumbledore despised Dementors with a passion… But she was _not_ a Dementor; Severus repeated it in his mind over and over again. She might have a part of one inside of her, yet she could not have been any more different from these Dark creatures…

_At least partly, this is all my fault…_

Only the tension in his hand betrayed his emotions. His fingernails were digging into the skin of his palm, drawing blood, as he—out of the corner of his eyes—watched Sariss being tortured, beaten, whipped, smashed to the ground. Torches kept exploding and dying as if they wanted to share her pain. Every scream of hers sent shudders through the flickering flames. The particular lighting that was caused by this, made the scene look unreal and frightening.

Severus felt sick watching it all and averted his gaze as much as he could—and it wasn't that much at all since the Dark Lord mustn't notice that he couldn't bear it. 

So he had to watch, if he wanted to or not, and listen to her inhuman screams, unable to do something to make them stop. But they'd only stop when—.

_He's her father! How can a father do this to his own flesh and blood? How can he do this to anyone?_

This was madness, complete utter madness.

If Severus had thought that the torture of Igor Karkaroff more than two years ago had been cruel, it was nothing compared to this! Karkaroff hadn't been put through half of what she went through—or maybe this was just Severus's impression. After all, this was Sariss. 

_My Sariss… Strangely, how after learning all of this she's still _my_ Sariss…_

Finally, after much too long a time, the Dark Lord yelled, "Finite Incantatem!" 

Severus almost breathed a sigh of relief that her screams had stopped, but they had been replaced by very small whimpers as she lay there, gasping for air and panting heavily. How much he wanted to gather her into his arms, hold her, tell her that everything that had happened during the last seventeen and a half years had only been a nightmare and she'd wake up any moment now, ten years old and carefree and safe…

The Dark Lord spoke, pondering who should be the one to kill her. Severus found this incredibly pathetic. Hadn't he struck enough fear into her heart already? The way she sat there, bleeding, her robes torn and tattered, her hair falling down to the ground all around her in complete disarray, hiding her face, sticking to the blood on it, mingling with it… 

It took all of the self-control Severus had ever learnt to acquire to keep his feet firmly where they were; he wouldn't move, he wouldn't speak up, he wouldn't even let his heart beat faster. What good would it do if the two of them died tonight? If there was a way to save her at all, he would have to stay calm and wait for the right moment. 

If it never came… If he didn't have the chance… 

She was too important to lose, and not only to him. Dumbledore had said this once, a long time ago. He must have known of her relation to the Dark Lord—there was no other explanation. 

How was he going to justify this as soon as he had to face Dumbledore? What would he do if Sariss died now? What consequences would that have? 

Severus snapped out of his thoughts as the Dark Lord stepped closer to him and Malfoy.

"Would you have the honour of serving me, Lucius?" He studied the other man's face for a moment before turning away to face Severus who had neither lowered his hood nor turned his face towards Sariss so she could have recognized him. He hadn't even chanced a look at her when she had been standing right next to him either… 

"Or will it be you?"

"What do you want me to do, my Lord?" Severus said. If he played his cards correctly now, there might just be a way…

The Dark Lord hesitated. Had Severus sounded too eager?

"Ah yes!" he suddenly exclaimed. "What an irony… So very taken as you seemed to be with her…" At that, Severus would have loved to rip the Dark Lord's tongue out. "It should be you—." Voldemort shot Sariss a meaningful glance and sneered. "Lower your hood—Severus."

Severus closed his eyes for a moment. 

_Oh, no. Please, no. I can't face her. I can't bear this._

**You didn't honestly think you could go through with it without her noticing that it's you?**

He was glad that the hood hid his face in the shadows so that Voldemort couldn't see his expression at this moment. It would have betrayed his emotions all too clearly.

Reaching up to lower the hood, Severus instantly applied the infamous sneer to his face—a sneer he'd worn so often it was all too easy to plaster it into its respective place.

He chanced a look at Sariss. She'd scrambled to her knees, steadied herself with her hands, barely able to hold the balance even in her kneeling position, and had raised her head, a look of shock and disbelief spreading over her bloodstained face as she looked at him. She choked; blood trickled out of her mouth…

_Oh, no…_

The deep crimson of her blood on her deathly pale skin, her face seemingly frozen with the expression she wore… 

Only her eyes moved. They were wide and wet with tears and blood. He couldn't bear the look in her eyes, accusing him of the most heinous crimes it was possible to commit. Disappointment he could see there, sadness; too trusting she had been, finding it in her heart to feel something for Severus—at least he'd hoped so—and then being so utterly cheated, when it had cost her so much courage to let her feelings show. Severus could tell she must be thinking this and scolding herself for it—if he had been in her place he would have. 

_She thinks I betrayed her. Not only her, but Dumbledore, too_. 

**Perhaps you should have told her everything. You had the chance. You had the perfect chance. She asked you a direct question.**

_I never lied._

**You told her a half-truth. What's worse? A lie told straight out or a lie embedded in truth?**

"Yes, it is he," the Dark Lord said. He sounded as though he found the whole situation incredibly funny. "Isn't it ironic? You being betrayed by one of the few people that do not fear you, that do not recoil from the coldness of your touch… someone you trusted, didn't you? Perhaps you even _loved_ him?" he hissed. Severus would have dearly liked to rip him to pieces with his bare hands. His fingernails dug deeper and deeper into his flesh, a feeble attempt to keep himself from giving himself—everything!—away.

"But I would not know, would I?" said Voldemort airily. "And now I shall never know, because this is the day you die." 

Severus saw Sariss trying to catch his eye, silently pleading with him, denying the obvious. And she coughed again. It looked and sounded as though her soul were to come out any second…

_Don't look at me like this, Sariss. I can't do anything. _

**Yet.**

_I can't save you. _

**Yet, again.**

_If I move only a quarter of an inch without his explicit permission, we'll both be dead_. 

Dying together wouldn't make anything better. Severus had never been one for thoughts as romantic as this one; and, as much as it pained him, this was not Romeo and Juliet. 

He couldn't throw away everything what Dumbledore and he himself had been working so hard for, could he? He had established himself in the Dark Lord's inner circle—the perfect position to gather information. He couldn't just sacrifice himself for the sole reason of not having to feel guilty that she'd died with him standing by—no matter how much she meant to him—watching, not doing anything to prevent this from happening, could he? 

He knew he'd hate himself for the rest of his miserable life. Just as he'd started to think his life was worth living after all, the Dark Lord had interfered. 

Life was cruel… Love was even more…

Voldemort stopped in front of Severus, his red eyes boring into Severus's, who didn't move a muscle, only stared back into those horrible glinting eyes. The Dark Lord proffered a dagger. So simple an object. Severus was confused. What was this all about?

Then, as though Voldemort had read his thoughts, he said, "Do with her as you please, Severus, and then dispose of her. Treason of this extent doesn't merit a clean death. This thing is not my daughter."

Severus took the weapon with a slight bow and whispered obediently, "Yes, my Lord." The answer had come automatically, without a thought. Only when he felt the handle of the dagger in his hand he realized to what he had just agreed, the metal as cold as ice—colder than Sariss's hands… 

_Sariss… _

Severus closed his eyes for a moment. The handle was so very cold, it seemed to burn his skin—and, suddenly, he realized the full extent of what had just happened. He stared at the weapon. This could be the chance he hadn't even dared to hope for… He could get near her… And then—.

"Crucio!" the Dark Lord yelled, and Sariss screamed with pain once more before slumping to the ground. 

_She must have tried to get away. A last futile effort_… 

Her scream still echoed inside his head as a plan began to form in his mind—a perfect plan—as he advanced on her, very slowly.

She tried to scramble away, her feet slipping on her own blood. Her boots were gone, he noticed. Sliced off her by the curses…

Frantic whimpers escaped her, chokes wrecked her body, tears mingled with the blood on her cheeks; her lips quivering, her eyes wide open, a deadly scared expression was carved on her face. Like a mask. 

Severus would never have thought this face was capable of showing something remotely like what it displayed this instant. It pained him not to be able to wipe or kiss it away, to reassure her that he was on her side, no matter what it looked like on the outside.

Step…

"Please," she sobbed, barely able to force that single word out. She'd screamed herself hoarse. Blood trickled out of the corner of her mouth as she coughed, strained and weak. Ghastly…

_I should never have let her leave my side._

The world seemed to exist only of three colours: 

White. Her skin was so very white it seemed to glow in the dark. 

_I should have clasped her hand in mine and never let go._

Red. Her blood, deep crimson, almost burgundy because of the sharp contrast to her skin… 

_I should have put my arm around her to protect her from the cold, from the storm, from all this!_

Black. Her dark-brown hair that looked as black as her robes, soaked with blood…

_I could have spared her all of this if only I had been there._

Another step…

_I must be there now._

He gripped the dagger tighter; this charade had to be held up for only a few more moments—the longest moments in his entire life…

_Sod this spying business_, he thought. _I'm not going to lose her. This is my chance._

**The chance to back out of this, you mean,** a little voice in the back of his mind scolded him. **How selfish…**

_If I can save her in the process of being selfish, so be it!_ Severus countered. 

He was fully aware of his utter selfishness. Oh yes. There was no denying it.

This was not about fighting the Dark Lord, not about serving Dumbledore. This was about not being capable to bear being—if only seemingly—a Death Eater anymore… It wasn't even about saving a life. Any other life he would have forsaken at this moment. It was about saving _her_ so he could try and make it undone.

It was about not wasting a perfect opportunity to back out of all of this. Oh, but he'd have the best of all excuses, since it was also about redemption—now more than ever before—earning forgiveness from her, holding her in his arms again, feeling the sensation of her lips on his once more… Unutterably selfish.

Impossible to think about kissing in a situation like this, when the very object of his affections was trying to scramble away from him, afraid that he was not only going to kill her—no, _knowing_ that he would be the one to end her life in an instant, but only after… only after he had taken from her by force what she might have given willingly one day… He had fantasized about what it would be like, the first time with her. There was no denying—but not like this. His fantasies had something to do with candles in a darkened room and a bed, and rose petals catching in her rippling brown hair—a bit old fashioned and not very creative perhaps, but a classic fantasy; very fitting it seemed to picture her like this. And, above all, his fantasies were ruled by her soft and tender, not injured and bleeding, skin, bathed in the warm golden light of the candles or the cool silvery light of the moon. No fearful eyes. No blood and tears. No screams of agony. No pain. Only soft sighs of pleasure…

He took a deep breath, banishing those thoughts from his mind.

Desperate situations—desperate measures.

Only a few more steps…

**~*~*~**

Harry knew he was dreaming. Yet, he could not will himself to wake up. He was shocked at the revelations he'd heard as well as Voldemort's cruelty and Snape's indifference to any of it.

Professor Ravon finally screamed as her body was once again wrecked with curses Harry had never heard of before. Harry had never known that a human being was even capable of such a kind of scream; it tore at his soul to listen to it. Even when he covered his ears he could still hear it. And he had to look at it, too. He couldn't screw his eyes shut, no matter how hard he tried, and he could not look away…

She was sitting there, drenched in her own blood, choking and crying. She looked so young all of a sudden, so lost, as though she'd given up. To Harry she seemed like a candle that had been blown out, still there, but not providing any light. And although Harry had never seen someone die in a way like that, slowly and painfully, she looked as though she were already dying…

"Do with her as you please, Severus, and then dispose of her. Treason of this extent doesn't merit a clean death. This thing is not my daughter," Voldemort said and Snape took a dagger from him. "Yes, my Lord."

Voldemort turned and shouted "Crucio!" and Professor Ravon who had tried to scramble to her feet, slumped to the ground again, twitching and convulsing, screaming with pain, drawing in some painful breaths that sounded as though she weren't breathing the air in but instead swallowing it. Even the sound of it made Harry want to punch everyone in that place. But most of all Voldemort—and Snape.

Harry knew what it felt like—being cursed by Voldemort, that is.

Snape advanced on her, holding the dagger in his hand, ready to strike, a look of indifference, perhaps even glee, on his face. His other hand reaching into his robes…

Harry suddenly found his voice and shouted, "No! You can't do this!" But Snape did not listen. He did not react at all. That was the moment when Harry realized that this was a dream.

Then everything got blurry. He heard a voice. "Come on, Harry, damn it, bloody wake up, Potter!"

He opened his eyes and found himself being shaken violently by Ron who, as he caught sight of his eyes being open now, breathed a sigh of relief and said, "I thought I'd never get you to wake up…" 

"I… I just had a nightmare…" 

"And what a nightmare that must have been."

"Voldemort. He…"

Ron flinched. "Don't say that name." Harry almost smiled at this reaction of Ron's. He'd always flinched at the mentioning of the Dark Lord's name.

Harry opened his mouth to continue. Ron interrupted him.

"Listen, Harry. I don't even want to know what it was you dreamt about. I need my beauty sleep. But whatever it was—You-Know-Who being in it can't be a good thing." He gulped. "I think you should go tell Dumbledore immediately." 

"But…" 

"Do it. If there's one thing I know about your dreams it is that you had better report them in detail to Dumbledore as quickly as possible." He suddenly grinned. "Trelawney would have a field day with you if she knew about your 'visions'." Harry couldn't suppress a wry grin at this statement. Ron would always find something funny about a situation, no matter how grave it actually was.

He fumbled for his glasses, pushed them onto his nose and fought his way out of the covers he had entangled himself in. Throwing back a glance towards Ron who had crawled back into his bed and now nodded encouragingly, Harry left the dormitory to do as Ron had suggested.

Once Harry was on his way, he finally realized the importance and graveness of the situation. Thus he increased his pace as he rushed down the stairs, along the corridors, another set of stairs, jumping the trick steps without even thinking about it—and ran smack into a green-clad someone. 

"Mr. Potter! I do hope you have a good explanation for sneaking around the school after hours. Ten points from—"

"Please, Professor McGonagall. I must see Professor Dumbledore immediately. I had another dream, a vision—or whatever… It's about Professors Snape and Ravon…" Harry explained hastily, scrambling to his feet.

McGonagall's expression softened. She had stopped flicking imaginary dust particles from her robe as soon as he'd mentioned the headmaster's name. 

And as soon as Harry had brought up Snape and Ravon, McGonagall interrupted him, "I'll take you to his office. You probably don't know the current password. We wouldn't want you to wake up the whole school by screaming the names of sweets at the gargoyle now, would we?"

They passed the gargoyle ("Canary Creams!") and got up the spiral staircase to Dumbledore's office.

As soon as they'd entered the office, Harry rushed towards the Headmaster's desk while Professor McGonagall took a seat near the fireplace after having greeted Dumbledore with a short, "Albus." He nodded and focused his attention on Harry who was doing his best to describe what he had seen—things beyond description.

"Professor Ravon… Professor Snape… He's going to… to kill her… _He_ told him to—" 

Dumbledore held up his hand. "Hang on, Harry. I think you'd better start at the beginning."

And so Harry told the Headmaster everything he'd seen and heard in his dream—leaving out the more disturbing details as best as he could. He didn't want to think about these things. But he kept true to the actual events nonetheless. "And then he handed Snape a dagger… and he took it… and he approached her—she was kneeling on the ground, trying to scramble up, but couldn't… Then he bent down, reaching into his robes—" Harry paused, catching his breath. "And that's when I woke up, actually, when Ron woke me up. I remember hearing myself screaming…" 

Dumbledore had a look of shock on his face, but it was quickly replaced by a sad and thoughtful expression. 

"Thank you, Harry. This information will prove very useful. However, I must ask you not to talk about what you've learnt," he said quietly. "At least not until we have sorted this out a bit."

"But…" Harry tried to object.

"You may tell Miss Granger and Mr. and Miss Weasley if you feel inclined to do so. I understand that you need to share your knowledge. I have noticed that you've been doing quite a bit of research already. The parts of the puzzle fit now, don't they?"

"You mean you knew it all along?" Harry asked, a bit confused about that; but then again: What did Dumbledore _not_ know? '

"'Knew' would be a bit too strong a word for the whole affair. I only knew about her relation to Voldemort of which she—you must believe me this—had no idea at all. She'll be quite upset when she returns." Dumbledore sighed.

"But Snape is going to kill her. He's going to… He might have done it already!" Harry shouted.

"He wouldn't; and he won't. But to answer your previous question: Let's just say that I suspected that there was something in her that wasn't quite right. But I paid no attention to it." Dumbledore paused, looking thoughtful once more. After a few moments he spoke again, "It wasn't important and still isn't—or is it, Harry? Has the knowledge about who and what she is changed your opinion of her?"

Harry thought for a few seconds. "I… I guess… Not really. She can't do anything about it, can she?"

"This is correct. She can't help being who she is. She's not that different from you. You know, Harry? You also never had a choice. You are the Boy Who Lived; you never asked for that scar on your forehead, did you? And she has been forced into a life much more difficult than yours actually—because she can't hide from her powers—and now she can't even hide from herself anymore… She must control those powers—always. If she loses control… You saw what happened to Mr. Malfoy."

Harry nodded.

"And that was only a very small incident. I'm surprised the room can still be used at all. Mr. Malfoy had struck more of a nerve than both of them were aware of. I am sure that parts of what he insinuated were just to annoy her…" Dumbledore trailed off, tilting his head to the side as though he'd heard a sound and wanted to listen.

"Professor Dumbledore? What's wrong?" Harry asked.

Dumbledore smiled at Harry, his eyes twinkling as usual. Harry's automatic reaction to this was a feeling of being in good hands and of safety spreading through his body. He suddenly felt how tired he actually was and yawned. 

"You'd better get back up to Gryffindor Tower. You have lessons tomorrow, after all. Don't worry. All is being taken care of," Dumbledore said. "Minerva, if you would like to accompany Mr. Potter on his way to his dormitory? I'll be heading to the hospital wing where—I'm sure—I'll soon be asked quite a lot of questions…"

"Of course, Albus. And, Mr. Potter, do not even think about sneaking out of your Common Room. The last thing that is needed now is a bunch of nosy students. For once behave like the almost-adults that you are."

"All right," Harry said, stifling a yawn. Then he added sleepily, "G'Night, Professor Dumbledore." The adrenaline rush had subsided; he suddenly felt how tired he actually was, and trailing McGonagall he made his way back up to his dormitory where Ron stirred immediately and—obviously overcome by his curiosity—asked him what had happened.

"Promise me that you won't tell anyone. Dumbledore made me promise not to tell anyone but you, Ginny and Hermione. He must have figured that you'd get it out of me no matter what." Ron nodded, and Harry told him what he had told the headmaster. It was now much easier than the first time he'd reported the events.

Ron's eyes grew wider and wider, and his mouth hung open. He resembled Dobby the House-elf by a great deal now that he had learnt that Professor Ravon was in fact Voldemort's daughter, the Heiress of Slytherin, so to speak. Ron for his part was obviously speechless…

Then, "A Dementor?!"

"Shh! You want to wake up the others or what?" Harry hissed.

"But… A Dementor? As if it wasn't enough already that she's his daughter, for heaven's sake! And she's taught us all year… She could have killed us. She could have killed you! His daughter, and a Dementor!"

"She's not really a Dementor, Ron. She only has some abilities—."

"What, like sucking your soul out?"

"Er…"

"That's a yes, isn't it?" Ron ran a hand through his hair. "Merlin's beard, this is gross. Do you think Dumbledore'll let her stay here, continue teaching us?" He gulped.

"I don't know what he's going to do. I don't even know if she's going to be alright. If you'd… I saw…" Harry trailed off. The images had started to flash before his eyes again.

Ron seemed to have noticed this. "Then… Then you think she's not… I don't know… dangerous to you, to us?"

Harry shook his head. "I think the only one who should be afraid of her is Voldemort—."

"Don't say the name."

"Come on, Ron. This is getting ridiculous. Everyone still fears his name more than the man himself. Do you all think that he'll materialize out of thin air as soon as you utter his name, like Beetlejuice or the Candyman or what?"

"Who are _those_ guys now?"

"Ask Hermione when you're staying at the Grangers' one time. She'll get those movies and then you can watch them."

"Movies, huh?"

"You know what movies are, Ron. Moving pictures. In the cinema, remember?"

"Yeah, that was really strange."

"That's what I thought when I first saw a wizarding photograph. Weird that was."

"Speaking of weird, let's get back to the subject. What's up with her?"

"I don't know. McGonagall explicitly told me to stay here and not try and sneak into the infirmary. I assume that she's alive. But, Ron, even if she's survived all of this, Ravon won't be teaching for the next few days or even weeks, I can tell as much from what I've seen. It was awful. It was the most horrible thing I've ever seen. Those curses, her screams, his laughter, the blood…" Harry screwed his eyes shut.

"She's his daughter!"

"Not if you ask her. To her he's the devil himself. That's why she thinks the Boggart would have turned into him, I'm sure—" 

"I would have had a heart-attack if that had happened."

"Like everyone else."

"Do you think she could have driven the Boggart-He Who—This is too long—Boggart-You Know Who—" 

"Say Voldemort, will you?"

Ron rolled his eyes. "Vol-de-mort." He pronounced the name very carefully and very softly. "Do you think she could have driven _it_ away?"

"I don't think there's anything funny about anything that only looks like Voldemort, not even if he were wearing Neville's granny's hat and dress…" Harry trailed off. 

"We're being taught by a Dementor-like creature… The next best thing to You Know Who himself…" Ron kept muttering.

"Come off it, Ron. Has anybody ever told you that you tend to take things like these much too seriously? Remember when everybody thought I was the Heir of Slytherin?"

"Yeah," Ron said slowly, "but you weren't. She is!"

"But she means you no more harm than I!"

"That's something that has yet to be seen."

"I have seen enough. If we had a Pensieve I'd show you what I saw. But I don't think you'd want to see it—or do you? I could ask Dumbledore if he'd lend me his…" Harry offered. "After all that I told you, do you want to see it? Do you want a couple of sleepless nights? If only to have proof that we have nothing to fear from her even though she is—" 

Harry had no idea why he was defending her so much. He still had this distinct feeling that he knew her, that he had seen her, perhaps even met her, a very long time ago. It was like a memory that could not be grasped fully. A word he wanted to say but couldn't, although it was already sitting on the tip of his tongue ready to be uttered. He knew her. He did. But how? And from where? 

This was nonsense, wasn't it? If he had met her, he'd remember her. Sure he would. She wasn't the type to walk unnoticed, after all… But whence came this particular feeling that he had had when she had first looked into his eyes—like meeting an old friend? Not possible. Not possible at all…

"No, I don't think I have to see it to believe it." Ron's voice was very small and thoughtful now. "It's enough to hear it from you. And when you tell something like this, I can be sure that in fact it was about twice or three times as bad. You've never been one to exaggerate, Harry… Let me just sleep it over, ok? This is quite a lot for a single day," Ron muttered and crept back into his bed. "G'Night, Harry. I hope I don't dream…"

"So do I, Ron," Harry murmured, suddenly very exhausted, as he took off his glasses and set them on the bedside table. "So do I."

"Our last year at Hogwarts and we never had a single normal DADA teacher—must be a record…" Ron mumbled into his pillow.

Harry smiled slightly, despite himself. Trust Ron to find something funny in a situation no matter how grave. He always tried to cheer Harry up. If only that would last longer than a few seconds.

Soon, Ron's light snores could be heard.

Harry did not sleep any more that night.

**~*~*~**

A few more steps…

Her eyes were a haunting. Burning like fire they were. Too bright, as though nothing else were alive in her. Unreal. Flickering like two small flames that would be extinguished.

**Put out the light…**

He could only stare back at her, desperately willing the muscles in his face to obey and not twitch. She was slowly dying.

If only he could move faster without arousing suspicion…

"Severus… Please." Her voice sounded so soft and melodic; she might as well have sung those two words. And although they were only two words, they might as well have filled a book, a whole encyclopaedia. So much lay in them. So much pain and fear. Despair and capitulation… And love and hate…

And hope?

Yes, hope that it would be over soon. Not hope that a hero would come and save her. She might even be hoping that death would claim her before Severus the Death Eater could finish his awful task—which he wouldn't even commence, which he wouldn't even consider commencing, let alone finish.

Her words echoed in Severus's mind despite their softness. Not even her screams could have pierced his ears like that.

How he wanted to tell her that this was not the end. How he wanted to tell her that she'd be safe in a couple of moments. He couldn't tell her the words. He couldn't tell her by his emotions. It was clear that she could hardly sense anything, now that she was on the verge of death…

_Hold on to life, Sariss. Don't let it seep out of you with your blood. Don't go. There are so many things I haven't told you yet. They mustn't be left unspoken. So many things left undone._

He reached into the folds of his robes; his hand found and clasped a small object wrapped in a handkerchief-sized piece of velvety cloth. The Portkey Dumbledore had given him a long time ago, in case of an emergency, if the Dark Lord discovered where Severus's loyalties really lay. It had been used to travel from Hogwarts to some place elsewhere already. Thus, it would be possible to use it for entering Hogwarts again—which wasn't possible under other circumstances…

Sariss had blacked out—he was almost grateful for this. Her breathing was ragged. It sounded as though her body was screaming for air.

**The effort of trying to get away from you has drained her; the pain, the blood loss, the shock**, the analytic part of his mind noticed. 

_Trying to get away from me…_

In a swift motion, he drew the small package from inside his robes, revealed the orb-like object that had been wrapped in a piece of black velvet, knelt down, dropping the dagger as he took hold of Sariss, and touched the Portkey to her and himself. 

_I don't want to pretend anymore. I don't want to have to live a lie any longer._

All of this happened within less than a second. Fortunately, neither the Dark Lord nor the Death Eaters had noticed anything in time. Severus could hardly believe his luck. 

"Traitor!" he could hear the Dark Lord yell furiously, as he felt the familiar tug of the Portkey in his stomach, whirling him and his precious burden through space. The green light of Avada Kedavra merely hit empty space and vanished harmlessly. It would claim no victim that night.

_Oh, yes. Guilty as charged…_ Severus thought, as the world became a blur. _And for once in my life, this word is not an insult; coming from you, I regard it as a compliment…_

He had blown his cover irreversibly. There was no turning back now. He had made his choice. If it had been the right thing to do, he did not know. Alas, it had seemed to him as one of his better ideas at the moment he'd jumped into action. Actually, the best he'd ever had…

Severus slammed into the ground with a dull thud, Sariss, who moaned and stirred slightly at the force of the impact, cradled in his arms. The Portkey had taken them straight to the infirmary.

Sariss gagged once more. That a human being could lose so much blood and still be alive…

"Madam Pomfrey!" Severus called and pressed two fingers to Sariss's bloody and injured throat to check her pulse. It was so painfully slow or maybe it only seemed so to him; like a drum her heart beat, distinct and seemingly strong but so very slow. It felt as though it were reaching a last height before stopping completely… "Madam Pomfrey!" he yelled, not even aware that his voice was full of panic. "We need help here! Help! Madam—." 

"What is it that you have to scream blue murder in here, Prof—?" Madam Pomfrey rushed into the infirmary, looking quite dishevelled and sleepy, her words catching in her throat at the sight she beheld.

But she was completely awake and back into business-mode after the fraction of a second. "Place her onto the bed over there, would you?" she ordered quietly.

He did so. Careful as he was, a very weak choking whimper disturbed the silence and Sariss's eyelids fluttered; yet, weakened as she was, she didn't open her eyes.

"What happened?" Poppy asked then, and all Severus could reply was, "Isn't that obvious? Hasn't the headmaster informed you that she was—?"

"Taken by the Dark Lord," she said, and took a look at Sariss's face, pulling her eyelids up to have a look at her eyes. "Unconscious. Thankfully," she muttered and conjured up a bowl of water and a piece of cloth. Then she took a small bottle from a nearby shelf and poured a small amount of its content into the water. 

Severus wrung his hands and started pacing back and forth. "What can I do?" he asked finally.

"Severus, you have done so much already," Madam Pomfrey said calmly.

"Give me an occupation, Madam Pomfrey, or I shall run mad." 

"Well then… help me get her out of these tatters. She's losing much blood as it is already. Better to find out quickly where it mainly comes from. And then," she conjured up another piece of cloth, "apply this liquid all over her. It will stop the bleeding and start restoring her until I can fix her up properly."

Severus must have blushed since she added, "Oh, please, Severus. You don't honestly think anything can be kept a secret in Hogwarts, do you? The way you two tend to argue…" She drew a small phial out of her pocket and poured its contents into the mouth of her patient. Sariss hardly managed to force air into her lungs. She had no choice but to swallow. "There. This will heal her inner injuries quite nicely… She's breathing much easier already…" she muttered to herself.

It must have been the look the Potions master gave her, because an embarrassed expression appeared on her face and she quickly added, "I'm sorry, I had no idea that you haven't… You're not… Um…" she broke off, equally blushing, but regained her composure quickly. Back in business-mode she threw a look at Sariss and then back at Severus, a determined—and a bit fearful—expression on her face, took a deep breath and said, "Well, I could use your help nonetheless. Really."

He nodded, hesitantly starting to pull away stripes of Sariss's clothing that clung to her, the dried blood gluing it to her skin. It was a sickening sound when the cloth and skin parted, a ripping noise, as though someone pulled off an adhesive plaster that had been sticking to the skin for a very long time. Severus tried not to think about what he was doing, what he heard, what he saw, that it was Sariss's body lying there, devastated, damaged and broken, the blood again starting to seep through the wounds on her body as soon as he touched her with shaking hands, no matter how gently and carefully he worked. 

Gently, he applied the liquid to her throat, careful not to break the delicate silver chain she always wore. It apparently meant very much to her. He had never asked her what exactly it was standing for, if she only wore it because it was beautiful or for a specific, more idealistic, reason…

On treating her face, Severus perceived that it was hardly injured. A blessing. The blood that had been there had been mostly smeared there by Sariss herself. Why of course. She had shielded it with her hands. They had caught the full force of the curses…

_Oh gods, her hands…_

Severus flinched involuntarily.

Her once so slender, perfectly manicured, soft, alabaster-like hands were so very injured, swollen, the long nails having dug deep into the sensitive skin of the palm, the skin ripped to pieces, dried blood and shreds of her own skin and flesh sticking under her nails… Severus screwed his eyes shut as he tended to her hands when he thought he could see her bones. It was unbearable. He swallowed and tried to think about anything else but those hands. 

Hands that had touched his face, smoothed back his hair, laced their fingers with his when nobody had been watching… 

Hands he had held, stroked, caressed, kissed—and all that such a short time ago and much too rarely and always for much too short a time… 

"Those hands can do magic…" he murmured hoarsely.

He almost breathed a sigh of relief when he was done bathing her hands in the Potion. And they didn't look that _dead_ any longer either. Madam Pomfrey must have brought a very strong Asclepius Potion, perhaps even some Phoenix tears to achieve a visible result as quickly as Sariss's body was starting to heal.

Another piece of the tatters that had once been her clothing. Another patch of injured skin. 

The Potions master tried very hard not to blush when he touched the towel to what had once been the certainly immaculate and very soft white skin of her breasts and her stomach. He tried not to think about the fact that he had so hoped and dreamt he would one day touch her soft, milk-white skin and cover every inch of it with kisses, the sensation of her cool skin against his…

Another soft but pained moan came from her, like an accusation that he still dared think of her in a way he had kind of grown used to during the previous weeks.

Indeed. How profane. At the moment, the mere thought seemed sacrilege. 

A small noise from her was enough to rip Severus out of his fantasies and make him conscious of what he was doing, when it had so obviously been so much easier to do what he did when his mind was somewhere else, somewhere in a hypothetic and thus perfect world where none of what had happened in this world had happened.

But no.

It was unbearable. Even for him.

Indeed, Severus Snape fought to keep up his composure. He had seen many things in his life, too many, too awful to name, so horrendous that they would drive anybody else insane (save, perhaps, a few other people—some of them too cold and evil to care—among whom Severus had counted himself a long time ago—and others—like Madam Pomfrey—doing their job because they were strong at heart; and Poppy was good at what she did). But he had never seen something like this, not even nearly, not at such close range. The bleeding and suffering thing in this bed was alive! A horrifying thought that one could still be alive like that.

Her blood stained his hands; the wet cloth that had once been white soon didn't lose any of its crimson colour anymore when he dipped it into the Healing Potion, didn't clean her skin anymore when he pressed the cloth against it as tenderly as he could, trembling as he was.

He closed his eyes for a moment, willing the image that presented itself to him to change—but when he opened his eyes again nothing had changed. Severus felt as though he couldn't have moved a muscle even if his life depended on it.

All he was capable of was staring at her unconscious form in horror, unblinking, until his eyes started to burn and water. That she had been able to will herself to scramble to her knees, trying to get away, in the state her body was in, bleeding as she was, her whole body covered with dried and fresh blood… 

His mind went completely blank at that moment—it couldn't process what it was beholding and thus he finally screwed his eyes shut to not have to see anything any longer. But it was of no use—the image of her seemed to burn its way through his closed eyelids…

And it was in exactly this moment that Severus Snape felt something inside of him break…

Madam Pomfrey pulled a bedspread over Sariss that was stained with watery blood almost instantly, and shoved Severus away from the bed. "Thank you. Now, Severus, let me handle the rest of this alone."

"How is she?" he whispered almost inaudibly, although he didn't need an answer. But he was lacking anything else to say. He'd never been so shocked and afraid in his whole life, afraid that he had nonetheless killed her—if only indirectly…

"Better." She gave him another small push. "But she'll be much better as soon as I can attend to her properly. And now move out of the way. You help her best by letting me do this." She sighed. "Just look at you. You're not well. You should go to sleep…" 

When Severus didn't move, Madam Pomfrey shook her head and pushed him into a nearby armchair. "Then sit down at least."

He collapsed into it. As soon as he was sitting, he realized how exhausted he was even though he hadn't done anything that could be held responsible for this, had he?

Severus stared at the unmoving figure that was Sariss. If it hadn't been for the slight rising and falling of her chest, the almost imperceptible shivering of her body, she would have looked dead. He buried his face in his hands and sighed deeply. 

If only he could cry. He felt like crying. But he couldn't. It seemed he had forgotten how.

_This shouldn't have happened. None of this should have happened!_

Severus turned around, startled, as he heard the sound of a door being opened. "Headmaster," he whispered.

"Severus. It is good to see you are well. Mr Potter has already informed me about the relevant parts of this. He was there after all…"

"I beg your pardon?"

"He had another dream; or rather a nightmare I should say. That's why I was able to come here as quickly as I did."

"What has he told you?"

"Everything save what happened after you reached into your robes. But that is something that most likely needn't be explained. You used the Portkey, I presume?"

"Yes." Severus spoke softly, his voice monotonous, turning his attention back towards the bed again.

"How is Sariss?" Dumbledore asked, genuinely concerned. It surprised Severus not only slightly that he'd reacted so calmly to the revelations about her—especially the Dementor part of it. But was it that important? To Severus it wasn't. He did not know why it didn't matter at all; he only knew that there were so many things that mattered more.

"This is my fault," Severus said, indicating Sariss who was lying in the bed, now covered by white sheets that made a sharp contrast to her reddish-purplish bruised skin. 

Madam Pomfrey pulled the customary curtains around Sariss's bed so she could start healing her wounds, restoring the missing chunks of flesh, and tending to the haematomas without being watched by a Potions master who flinched visibly every time she tapped her wand to her patient, without Severus's eyes boring into her skull. However, she wouldn't be able to cure the bruises on her psyche just as easily…

"It is not your fault, Severus. You saved her."

"I only did this because the opportunity was there. If Voldemort hadn't provided a good starting line for me to pick up on and if he hadn't handed the dagger to me—I think I would not—_could_ not—have moved a finger to save her. If he'd commanded Malfoy to… kill her, I think I would have stood and watched…" He shook his head. "I am more of a monster than she could ever be."

"She is no monster, Severus, and neither are you."

"I didn't say _she_ was. I am—and I say it again: I would have stood by and watched her being…" He couldn't say it. There had been a time when he could name what his brain thought now, yet his vocal cords refused to cooperate. "Watched her die," he said instead. "I know I would have. And that is not all there is. You surely remember the conversation we had a long time ago? The one we had shortly after I had asked for refuge?"

"I remember," the old man said softly.

"Then you must remember that I told you about developing a potion for the Dark Lord, the one that—."

"Yes. I remember," Dumbledore confirmed.

"You realize that this—." Severus pointed towards where Sariss was. In the backlighting, he could see Madam Pomfrey's silhouette and Sariss's profile clearly. "This is not the Dark Lord's creation alone. I had a hand in this. I provided the basis for this…" He swallowed, then he continued much more softly, "The moment Voldemort said it, I suddenly understood the connections between all those previously seemingly unrelated things… And he named it 'Angel potion', as though through it he'd create something pure and completely—."

"It was not your fault," Dumbledore interrupted.

"Stop saying this! I know it was—_is_—my fault. Everything about her is _my_ fault!" Severus yelled, jumping to his feet.

"If the gentlemen would be a tad more quiet or be so kind as to leave the infirmary to continue their yelling contest?" Madam Pomfrey hissed, having stuck her head around the wall of screens that shielded Sariss's bed from view.

"My sincerest apologies, Poppy," the headmaster said. "I'm sure Severus will be able to control his temper…"

"Of course." And she was gone again, only the soft murmur of her voice and some rustling noises could be heard now.

"I'm not sure if you should tell her about this," Dumbledore said.

"She must be told. Otherwise I would be living a lie every time I laid eyes on her…" Severus ran a hand through his hair and started pacing. "I must find a way to explain everything to her…"

"You are aware that she most certainly won't take this lightly?"

"She'll probably hate me for this," he said, taking a deep breath. "She will."

"But you did save her life."

"I saved _this_ life—but I had a hand in taking away her other life, her—."

"You couldn't have known. No one knew."

"I _should_ have known," Severus snarled, angry at himself. "But I didn't waste a thought on the consequences of my actions. I did not care what happened, what he'd do with the knowledge that would enable him to transfer the magical abilities of one… _creature_… to another. I did not care about _anything_!"

"Yet you care now, don't you?"

Severus stopped pacing. Yet, he did not answer. This was no subject to be discussed now. It was too personal to even be discussed with Dumbledore. Once had been enough.

After a few moments, he began to speak once more trying to explain what had happened, why he hadn't known anything about the Dark Lord's plans, perhaps trying to justify himself for being too careless, for not being prepared, "The Dark Lord; the Death Eaters. I had no idea what they were up to. I had not been informed. I almost feared I had been discovered—which won't pose much of a problem anymore… I'm sorry. I won't be of much use as a spy anymore. This time, there's no way to worm my way out of being killed when I come across the Dark Lord. There's no turning back."

He slumped back down into the armchair and sighed, running a hand over his tired, bloodshot eyes.

Dumbledore seemed to understand, since he didn't comment on Severus's sudden change of topic. Instead, he replied, "They might have feared you'd arouse suspicions if you lured her out of the castle, not to mention that you'd certainly have aroused Sariss's suspicion. It was much easier for them to simply wait for her. Surely young Mr. Malfoy informed his father about the dates of the Hogsmeade weekends. So they only had to wait. Watch and wait for the perfect opportunity. And it came as it later came to you. The snowstorm offered it to them. It was perfect. Not many people out there and the few who were unable to see anything clearly. Then you wouldn't be suspected of _betraying_ 'that old fool Albus Dumbledore' and they could just Apparate to Hogsmeade and Disapparate again as soon as they'd caught her."

"You're not surprised that Voldemort wanted her to join him? You're not shocked by the revelations about who—and what—she is? Not at all?" Severus glanced at the headmaster whose eyes had this knowing twinkle in them. "You've known it all along," he stated.

"I must admit, Severus, that I've known part of it all along, yes, but not everything. Actually, the one thing I've known for sure is that the girl is a riddle. And I told you so, if I remember correctly…" Dumbledore nodded at Madam Pomfrey who had just emerged from behind the curtains and had nodded at him, too.

"You've been dropping hints? Headmaster, some of your… er… little intrigues prove almost worthy of a Slytherin. A riddle?" Severus Snape shook his head, almost laughing at himself. It would have been a mirthless laughter if he had. "A riddle with a capital R, to be more exact. That's what you meant, isn't it?"

Dumbledore smiled sadly as he turned back towards Severus, sighed and shook his head yes. He had been looking to where Sariss was for a long moment. "Severus, I'm not sure if you should be the first person she sees when she wakes up. Perhaps it would be better if she approached you of her own incentives," he suggested. "This is not going to be easy for her, you understand?"

"Yes," the Potions master replied.

Dumbledore sadly shook his head and sighed. After a while, he said, "It is a pity this had to happen now. Just when she had started to blossom. Being in love really does become her—."

"Not for much longer, I'm afraid."

"Yes, and I'm afraid that she'll turn her back on you when you clearly are the one person in the world she really needs."

"That title belongs to you, headmaster. It always has."

"Not during the last weeks. You were keeping your relationship hidden very well. If I didn't know the two of you so well I would have missed the signs of your coming together completely."

"How did you—?" Severus began. "It was supposed to be a secret for reasons that—."

"You may fool Lord Voldemort, Severus, but you cannot fool me. I've known you and Sariss for much too long a time to be fooled by either one of you," Dumbledore chuckled slightly for a second or so. "And don't you look as though I had insulted you. The fact that the two of you tend to come to me and ask for advice in matters not only professional…"

"So you knew."

"Oh, even if I didn't know the two of you so well, I couldn't have missed out on your…er… affair. I just had to read the signs."

"That might have been?"

"Funny you should have to ask me that. You certainly saw the change in her. She seems much more relaxed when she has a shoulder to lean on—no matter how much she may deny it. As to you, you actually managed a smile or two."

"Apparently, she had that effect on me—when she wasn't driving me up the wall for a change."

"Already speaking in the past tense, Severus?"

"Tell me one good reason not to."

"There's always hope."

"Hope is a concept I've ceased to believe in a long time ago, and when I had almost started to believe that even for me something like love would be achievable, Voldemort came and took it from me. He seems to have taken a liking to steal everything I have—or for that matter, all that I ever wanted…"

Severus stood up wearily, ran a hand through his hair and walked towards the curtains that separated the bed Sariss had been placed onto from the rest of the room. He walked around them until she was in his view.

Severus took a close look at her—she looked so terribly frail, such as she had never looked like before, white as the sheets, unmoving like marble. He gently smoothed her hair back from her face, traced her jaw line lightly with his fingertips so as not to accidentally hurt her. The trembling still hadn't left his hands…

All of a sudden, he realized that his hands were still covered in her blood. It had completely escaped his mind. There must be some of it on his face, too… And his robes. His Death Eater robes… 

**How appropriate.**

_Her blood is on my hands…_

He quickly took the cloth that was lying in the bowl—Madam Pomfrey hadn't put it away just yet—and ran it over the stains on her face and then his face and after that his hands without even looking at them. He only looked at Sariss's face.

There were still light blemishes on her cheeks and forehead. He could see the bruises and wounds on her bare arms, too. Although, thanks to Madam Pomfrey, the gashes were closed and had already started healing quite fast, the shadows were still visible, some of them rather livid. 

So pale, her eyelids were faintly bluish, her lips not even remotely as rosy as they were supposed to be. Instead, they were of a faint pink. Too faint. Almost light purple. She seemed to have been drained not only of her blood but also of her very colour. She looked like a memory of herself. The only thing about her that seemed real was her dark hair. Someone should take care of it, clean it, brush it, so it could frame her beautiful face and fall down all around her body…

_Well, that someone's not going to be me, is it?_

A painful sigh escaped him as he gently brushed his fingertips over her bare upper arm, hardly touching her. He so wanted to draw her up against him and cradle her in his arms and hold her.

That was the only thing he could think of. He wanted to hold her. And, strangely, he wanted to _be_ held. Whenever had he wanted to be held that desperately? Why did he suddenly feel like a completely different person? Why was it that everything seemed so different to him all of a sudden? If only he could grasp a clear thought.

But that wasn't possible as long as he couldn't get rid of the image of her…

He shuddered involuntarily as the thought about the state her body had been in only a few minutes ago crawled back into his mind. He didn't really want to think about it. He didn't even want to know! 

But, he knew it. Even if he hadn't seen the bruises and gashes that had been covering her whole body until Madam Pomfrey had started healing them. He had been there, he had watched her being beaten and whipped and smashed into the ground as though she were a rag-doll… He'd heard her screams; he'd seen her lying on the floor, unconscious, when he'd approached her—dagger ready to plunge it into her heart. Her crumpled form on the ground… like a frail bird whose wings had been broken… That wasn't so far from the truth since she hadn't been able to fly away… literally. 

Severus only hoped she was strong enough to accept who she was—what she was. And there was still hope that she'd forgive him… Hope. Was there any hope for Severus? Had there ever been hope?

_Hope is a concept I've ceased to believe in a long time ago…_

Perhaps Dumbledore would tell her, explain it to her? 

Well, if he didn't, Severus would have to do it himself—and he'd look her straight in the eyes as he did so, awaiting and accepting his punishment, which, for once in his life, he deserved. He would accept every word and every punch of hers. It would be interesting to find out which would hurt more…

However, one thing was as good as carved in stone. She would turn her back on him. He was sure about this. And he wouldn't even blame her for it… Yet, he found that he hoped…

Severus bent over Sariss and pressed his warm parchment-dry lips first to her cold forehead and then brushed them over her almost agonizingly soft lips, stealing a touch and a kiss that could very well be his last. But this could not, must not, be the last time he kissed her. He suddenly felt more protective towards her than he'd ever felt to anyone before, not even—.

"I love you," he whispered almost inaudibly, afraid his voice would break. It was so easy to say when the one you wanted to tell it to didn't look at you, didn't prompt you to continue when you stuttered or trailed off because you'd lost your nerve. Everything was easier to say or do when no one listened or watched. 

But right now, he would have given anything to have her look at him, smile at him, even yell at him or slap him… to hear her answer… 

**What would she have answered had you told her that a mere twenty-four hours ago?**

_Any_ answer… It didn't even have to be in words if only she'd react at all… ****

Severus tore himself away from her, turned and swept out of the room without a backward glance. Had he walked a bit more slowly, he would have heard Dumbledore whisper equally softly, "I always knew you had a heart, Severus."

**Next chapter:**

Snape teaches DADA—and is not completely happy with that arrangement. Malfoy gloats, Snape is sad, Sariss wakes up and Dumbledore answers several unpleasant questions.


	21. What Others Do Abhor

**Author's note: **Thanks go to **Butterfly**, **Fortuna**, **In Silent Lucidity**, **Miriam** (you pushy little Gryffindor, you) and **vpatel**. Geez, I love these thank-you notes in the beginning :D

Chapter 20: What Others Do Abhor…

**_O, from what power hast thou this powerful might  
With insufficiency my heart to sway?   
To make me give the lie to my true sight,   
And swear that brightness doth not grace the day?   
Whence hast thou this becoming of things ill,   
That in the very refuse of thy deeds  
There is such strength and warrantise of skill  
That, in my mind, thy worst all best exceeds?   
Who taught thee how to make me love thee more  
The more I hear and see just cause of hate?   
O, though I love what others do abhor,   
With others thou shouldst not abhor my state:   
If thy unworthiness raised love in me,   
More worthy I to be belov'd of thee._******

_—William Shakespeare: Sonnet No. 150_****

The following morning Harry sat at the Gryffindor table, his three best friends huddled around him, engaged in a hushed conversation, their respective breakfasts completely forgotten, as Harry told them what he had learnt the previous night. 

"Oh my god," Hermione said. "Is this true?"

"I wish it weren't," Harry replied.

"And you heard and saw _everything_?" Ginny asked, her eyes wide. "That must have been… awful…"

Harry nodded. He had told them about his dream as he had told Dumbledore and Ron. Having already seen it once and explained it twice, it didn't bother him so much anymore to talk about it, yet it upset him greatly to think about it. Was this a contradiction in terms, being able to _talk_ about it effortlessly, yet not being capable of bearing to _think_ about it? Harry did not know.

He was glad when Ginny drew his head down on her shoulder and kissed his forehead. It felt so good to have her near. Once again, for the thousandth time during the last two years he scolded himself for not noticing earlier how simply put wonderful Ginny was, not only beautiful and intelligent, but caring, too. It was just that sometimes she was awfully quiet and lost in thoughts.

"What now?" Ginny asked softly.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked back, lifting his head.

"Well, is she staying at Hogwarts with Dumbledore knowing who and what she is?"

"He knew who she is all along and it didn't seem to bother him that much."

"Yes, but he does hate Dementors," Ron whispered, apparently still appalled at the mere thought that he had ever been in the same room with _her_.

"She can't have so much of one in her," Hermione said, her infamous 'I'm going to tell you what the facts are' expression firmly attached to her face and voice. "Remember what happened to your Patronus, Harry? It didn't charge at her at all. And you don't faint when near her either. That proves that she's quite enough human—as if that would make a difference. No matter what, she never gave anyone a reason to… well… you know what I want to say."

Harry didn't answer. He was thinking again, the images from his dream flashing through his mind in quick succession. He shook his head, screwing his eyes shut until he saw only different shades of red dancing before his eyes.

"Harry? You alright?" someone asked.

"Hmm?" Harry opened his eyes again. "Oh, yes, I'm okay."

"What do you think about her?"

"I'm not sure. But she's Vol—sorry, Ron—You-Know-Who's enemy. She's on our side," Harry said, trying to sound as convinced as he was.

"Now more than ever before, I might think," Hermione added. "And she's one of the best Defence Against the Dark Arts teachers we ever had."

"That's right. She's okay," Ginny said. "Poor Professor Ravon…" she added in a whisper.

"Okay then, as soon as she's back teaching her lessons we're going to treat her no more different than before. Agreed?"

"Agreed," the other three answered, although Ron looked a bit doubtful that that was possible at all. 

But then Ginny spoke up. "What about the other students? I mean, can we—" 

"I don't think we need to tell anyone about this. The Slytherins will do this for us as soon as they receive news from their Death Eater parents," Harry spat the last few words.

"But they will explain it wrong. I'm sure."

"That can't be helped. I promised Dumbledore not to talk to anyone but you three about it—at least until it's out in the open anyway. Until then… We can only hope the others can tell a half-truth from the truth, for Professor Ravon's sake."

"When the half-truth comes from a Slytherin—" Ron broke off and looked up. "Mail's here."

The flapping of wings invaded the air and dozens of owls came sweeping down on the tables to their respective addressees. 

The four friends exchanged glances and then looked towards the Slytherin table, in particular at Draco Malfoy who had just taken a letter from his eagle owl's leg.

"There goes," Harry whispered. "I bet it's a letter from his father telling him in detail—but certainly in a carefully revised version—what happened last night." 

"How long do you think it's going to take until the _Daily Prophet_ reports on this?" Hermione muttered.

"Not long enough."

**~*~*~**

Harry, Ron and Hermione were sitting in the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, waiting for Professor Snape who substituted Professor Ravon's lessons while she stayed in the infirmary recovering from Voldemort's 'attentions.'

"Oh no, more lessons with Snape. I don't think I'll survive this," Ron moaned.

"He wasn't even sneering that badly when I came across him in the corridor earlier today," Hermione said. "If you asked me, I'd say he's very worried and very—"

"Shh, here he comes. No use losing points in two subjects, is there?"

They hastily pulled out their quills and parchments and set up their books.

Snape looked tired, dark circles were under his black hollow eyes, his skin even more sallow than usual (and that when he had been almost good-looking recently), as he walked into the room, slamming the door behind him. His shoulders were somehow hunched, his steps heavy, his voice strangely strained as he started the lesson.

"Well, this lesson is going to be about snake-like Dark creatures as Sa—Professor Ravon's fairly extensive notes point out. So this is what I'm going to do," Snape said, sounding—despite the fact that he finally got to teach DADA—rather subdued, which was pretty strange, as everybody knew quite well that Snape and Ravon had always been bickering when they talked to each other if they did speak at all.

"The Basilisk. First bred by Herpo the Foul, a Greek Dark wizard and Parselmouth—," Snape paused for a second. He had apparently noticed that Malfoy was glaring at him, but paid no more attention to him apart from briefly narrowing his eyes. "Herpo—after much experimentation—discovered that a chicken egg hatched beneath a toad would produce a gigantic serpent possessing extraordinarily dangerous powers," he continued, pacing. "It is a brilliant green serpent that may reach up to fifty feet in length. The male can easily be told from the female since it has a scarlet plume upon its head although this might not be of much use when you face one. You'll suffer instant death if you look into its yellow eyes and if you don't look at it, its highly poisonous fangs will do what its look couldn't accomplish. Their creation is, of course, illegal. It has been since medieval times, but that never kept a Dark wizard from doing it. However, there have been no recorded sightings in Britain for at least four hundred years—although there has been an as of yet officially unrecorded one which at least a few of you surely remember very well…"

Snape went on and on, but seemed rather absent-minded. Harry assumed that his mind was most likely with Professor Ravon up in the hospital wing. After all, Snape had not just watched the events as though he were watching a movie like Harry had; Snape had actually been there; he had been given the dagger with which to kill Professor Ravon. He had taken her back to Hogwarts, which meant that he'd most likely carried the bleeding bundle of a barely alive young woman into the infirmary. He had seen much more of the state she had been in since he had been so much closer to her than Harry had been. And Harry wouldn't have wanted to see more if his life depended on it.

Snape seemed in fact so occupied with other thoughts that he didn't even pick on the Gryffindors properly when the students exchanged a few words and small pieces of parchment. He didn't even seem to notice when Ron leant over to Harry—and he should have jumped at the chance to take away at least twenty points from them, shouldn't he?—and asked softly, "Something must be wrong with my eyes and ears. This is not the Snape we know. What's happened with him?"

"Must have discovered the joys of having a conscience," Harry hissed back, refilled his quill and returned his attention to the lesson again.

"…in Burkina Faso. It is a three-headed serpent reaching commonly a length of about six feet. Its skin is of a livid orange colour with black stripes. Thus, it is very easy to spot for Muggles, unfortunately. Despite its intimidating appearance for which it was once a favourite pet of Dark wizards, the Runespoor is not a particularly vicious beast in itself. From Parselmouths recording their conversations with the serpent we learn that each head serves a different purpose. The left one is the planner; it makes the decisions of where to go and what to do. The middle head is the one always lost in dreams and glorious visions, for example. The right head is the critic. It tends to infuriate the left and middle head with a continual irritable hissing. That's why the two heads often tend to join forces and try to bite the critic off, which they manage to do very often despite the latter one's highly poisonous fangs…"

The Potions master hadn't even so much as thrown a fleeting look at Harry when he had been talking about Parselmouths, which Harry found very strange indeed. Snape usually never missed a chance to point famous Harry Potter out and say something nasty.

Ron was right. This was not the Snape they had known for all those years, not even the Snape of during the last two years, the Snape who had turned spy for Dumbledore once more. This wasn't slimy, greasy-haired Snape; this was worried and concerned Snape. Harry had never seen him that way—well, perhaps apart from his first year, of course, when Snape had tried to keep Quirrell from reaching the Philosopher's Stone; but Harry had to admit that he hadn't paid very much attention back then and for a good reason too. He'd been convinced that Snape had wanted to kill him.

Harry snapped back to present when he heard Snape say, "…a twenty-four inches long essay about this lesson. Due next Monday. Class dismissed."

There were still fifteen minutes to go… Snape usually never ended a lesson early if he could help it. Definitely worried. Very worried. Extremely worried… About Professor Ravon. How strange was that? Harry would have granted him concern when it came to a fellow teacher, of course, but this was very much more than just concern. There was no word that matched Snape's state. His body language was almost screaming out at the world that he was out of his mind with worry when he sat down heavily in the chair that was usually occupied by Professor Ravon and massaged his temples for a moment, the expression on his face hidden by the curtain of his hair.

The students quietly filed out of the room for fear he'd change his mind or give them detention for breathing too loud.

"Twenty-four inches! Professor Ravon made us only write half as much!" Ron exclaimed when they had exited the classroom and made sure they were not within Snape's overhearing range anymore. 

"What are you complaining about, Ron?" Hermione smirked. "You simply write twice as large as usual and there you have it."

"I haven't been writing _that_ large recently. At least not in DADA."

"Only because Professor Ravon threw you a few of those 'You know I'm pointedly looking at you' looks, isn't that so?"

"That's not the point," said Ron, a bit irritably, as he and Hermione had conversations like that _a lot_.

"And what is the point?"

"It's a waste of parchment when I have to write twenty-four inches in large letters instead of twelve in reasonably small letters."

"You're just using that as an excuse," Hermione replied. "But it's one of your better ones."

"You don't know how much it means to me to hear that from you," Ron said. "Earth to Harry Potter. You were supposed to help me out here, mate."

"No way. I'm keeping out of your relationship-trouble." He raised his hands in surrender.

"We don't have any trouble, do we, Hermione?"

"Well…" she said slowly and pointedly. "No. If we had trouble we wouldn't be speaking to each other, now would we?"

"Guess so."

"Now that we settled this, may I point out that the two of you are—how can I say it without sounding too bossy?—slightly behind in your schedules?"

Ron groaned loudly, which was a good thing since it muffled Harry's softer groan very effectively. Thus, only Ron received a glare from Hermione.

"What would we do without you?" asked Ron sarcastically.

"Most certainly we'd not be sitting in the library and pore over books as thick as Crabbe's and Goyle's heads," replied Harry.

"Very helpful you are, Harry," said Hermione.

"That's my job, isn't it? Being helpful." Harry grinned, but then grew serious again. "But then again, as much as I hate to admit this, we should indeed go to the library."

"Not you too."

"What's got to be…"

"Has got to be, I know," Ron sighed. "I'm just glad when all of this is over. I think I'm growing allergic to old parchment and ink…"

"Weasley, that's too bad for you, growing allergic to old things, isn't it?" Malfoy had apparently listened in on their conversation—deliberately or just in passing. Either way, the slimy git couldn't keep his mouth shut, could he? "So you'll get a hell of a shock when school's over, won't you, as there's hardly anything in your house that's not old and doesn't look it too."

"Don't listen to him, Ron," Hermione hissed when Ron took a step towards Malfoy, and Harry grabbed hold of his arm, whispering a quick, "Snape will hear," which he did out of habit, since in Harry's opinion Snape was hardly in his usual vindictive and malevolent mood today.

"Remarkable how you can stand being near us, being allergic to moral decency—but then again that might just be a genetic problem. The Malfoy genes," Ron snarled, sounding very different from the way he usually spoke. He was clearly fuming with anger. No one but Malfoy could drive him so far—not even Hermione, and that was quite something. "Like father like son."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Malfoy asked, narrowing his eyes at the three of them.

"You know that very well, Death Eater," Ron spat the last two words.

Malfoy clenched his teeth together, the muscles in his jaw working furiously. Hadn't he been prepared for anyone to know about this? It was a miracle that Ron, Harry, Hermione and Ginny had made it this long without throwing the facts into this constantly smirking face of Malfoy's—well, almost constantly, since the smirk had frozen and looked like a grimace now. His eyes were like cold fire. If looks could kill, Ron would have been a sticky puddle on the floor already.

"Be careful what you say, Mudblood-lover. It's a pity that any pureblood family should stoop as low as shagging a Mudblood, even though it's you."

Harry tightened his grip on Ron's arm and chanced a glance at Hermione, who had her hands balled into fists—she had already slapped Malfoy once, why shouldn't she repeat it one day—with her fist?—and looked back at him and shrugged helplessly.

"Come on, Ron, let's go," Harry said quietly, and Ron nodded determinedly and turned his back towards the Slytherin boy.

"Right, let's go. I shouldn't even have spoken to this Death Eater scum," he said, and Hermione laced her fingers with Ron's. "I'm sorry you had to hear that, 'Mione."

"I can't believe it has come this far," Hermione murmured when they made their way down the marble staircase into the Entrance Hall and through the doorway that led outside. "This isn't just about being a despicable racist and all that. This is open enmity."

"Perhaps this is exactly what being a Death Eater is about: Enmity against those who are not like them, who don't act like they do—."

"—who, contrary to them, have a sense of decency and loyalty," Hermione finished.

"And a brain. That stupid git. When they were handing out brains he must have waited in the wrong line, the 'Here's all you need for being a spoilt brat—and a stupid git' line. But of course he read only the first part of it."

"I'm afraid he's not stupid enough, Ron. In fact, I think he's dangerous. He's certainly not the only Death Eater among the Slytherins, but he's definitely the most dangerous one. Contrary to Crabbe and Goyle, for instance, he does have the brains for causing real trouble—despite of the fact that we like to call him stupid and all that."

"How can Dumbledore let him stay when he knows that Mal—?"

"Because," Harry interrupted Hermione, "because bearing the Dark Mark isn't a crime in itself. As long as he hasn't committed a crime that they can prove to him…" He trailed off, knowing that there was no need to finish that sentence.

"Dumbledore can't expel him," Ron finished it anyway and added, "Unfortunately."

**~*~*~**

Severus sank into Sariss's chair. He had ended the lesson very early; he was fully aware of it. Very intentionally, he had made the lesson quick. It seemed that Sariss's presence in this room was tangible. Her classroom it was, after all. Her office was just next-door. This was her desk. He was sitting in her chair…

The students left the room quietly. He was glad that none of them asked him a question about the lesson when they left. He felt he would have ripped the respective person's head off—especially if they had asked something along the lines, _'Where is Professor Ravon? Is she alright? When will she be back?'_ he would have exploded. But there was little hope that anyone would ask anybody a question like this. Supposedly, they were glad that Sariss couldn't teach for now—or at least they would be as soon as they learnt all about her… Severus had a vivid image in his mind of the letters that would reach Dumbledore because of this and an even more vivid image of the _Daily Prophet's_ front page. Rita Skeeter would surely find exactly the right or wrong words—depending on whose side you were on—to turn the tragedy into an even greater scandal than it already was. There had been enough such articles over the last few years; Dumbledore this and Dumbledore that, this mistake of his and that, employing werewolves and giants and now Voldemort's offspring. And as if that weren't enough already, a Dementor—at least that was what everyone would think of Sariss—the very being he detested so very much. 

But the headmaster had shown no disgust, only great concern, when Severus had seen him earlier that day. He should now be up in the hospital wing, waiting for Sariss to wake up, waiting to see what state she was in. Severus wished he could be there, too, when she woke up. He'd draw her into his arms, rest his cheek against hers, press his lips on her forehead, tell her he was so sorry… For everything. For every single little piece he had added to the puzzle that was her life and had almost resulted in her death…

Her presence lingered all around here. If he closed his eyes now he could almost see her teaching the students as he had done today, but also with much more enthusiasm than he had been able to display today. He should have been gleefully leaping at the change to teach her lessons. But instead he had only mourned the fact that he _had to_ substitute for her.

For years, he had longed to be exactly where he was now. In the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, sitting behind the desk that stood in front of him. For years it had been on top of his Christmas list, so to speak, to do what he had just done—teaching DADA.

This time, however, he hadn't enjoyed a single second of it. No, it was no more the position he wanted. It was the DADA mistress herself he yearned for already, although it had only been a couple of hours…

Every word he had spoken inside this room should have been hers to utter; every single word, echoing back from the walls, every scratch of a quill on parchment, reminded him of the fact that the very person who should be here, teaching in his stead, was lying in the hospital wing, probably still unconscious, recovering from severe injuries. Muggle medicine would have taken weeks or even months to make her body whole again. Magic made all of this so much easier… 

But what about her state of mind? A mind simply did not go through such torture unscathed. How strong was she, how stable?

Severus sighed heavily. Had the Dark Lord not only broken her body but also her mind? If so, she'd end up in St. Mungo's, alongside the Longbottom couple. That's what being tortured by Voldemort could do to you. If he wanted you to break, you would, unless you were very, very strong—which no one had ever been. Severus wasn't quite sure if the Dark Lord had ever pushed anyone so far beyond pain and agony as he had done with Sariss. He didn't know because no one had ever survived a similar encounter before. Driven so far beyond pain, so far that there were not enough words in the English language—or any other—to describe their intensity. His own flesh and blood. Well, in the case of Sariss and her father that wasn't much more than an empty phrase, since Voldemort hardly had a single sinew in common with Tom Marvolo Riddle anymore. 

Severus was still amazed and glad beyond anything he could name that Sariss had survived this torture. The way she had bled all over him, the blood livid against the few patches of her skin that had still been white as marble, barely recognizable, her blood warm on his hands as her skin or rather the surface of her body—Severus flinched at the thought—was cold as ice, barely alive. It hurt to think about it, but he couldn't banish the sight of her from his mind. One had to see it to believe that something remotely like this was possible at all. Life in a body that would have been damaged beyond repair only a few decades or so ago.

He kept repeating to himself that as long as she was alive there was still hope. When her body had survived this, her mind simply _must_ have, too. Severus would sell his soul to the devil himself—if he existed at all. About the existence of his soul, however, Severus didn't have the slightest doubt anymore. For a long time, he had thought that something like it didn't exist. But it did. If it didn't exist, why did it hurt so much? So there was his proof.

_Sariss. Please. I pray to everyone who would listen. Live, Sariss, recover in mind as well as in body._

**Otherwise, you won't even be able to ask her to forgive you.**

_Perhaps it is poetic justice that she, who could breathe life into me with a single kiss, with her mere touch, should leave me behind—driven only by the thirst for revenge—taking a part of myself with her…_

**All your life you had nothing.**

_And when I had almost thought that it had taken a turn for the better no matter what's going on outside Hogwarts…_

**You end up with nothing again.**

_Where's the happy ending? _

**There's still hope that she'll recover.**

_But is there still hope for 'us'?_

**I cannot answer you those things.**

_Neither can I. I, too, can only hope—or despair…_

Severus sighed again and went down to the dungeons once more. The Potions classroom was waiting for him again, filled with twenty students who were careless and happy and young and innocent—things Severus hadn't felt like for twenty years, things Severus had just begun to feel again when—.

Sariss. Sariss. His heart seemed to beat her name like a drum, pounding in his temples, adding to the headache he already suffered from. 

And on entering the classroom once more today, it still hadn't changed. Every ingredient that was sitting on the shelves, especially the ones of a Dreamless Sleep Potion, reminded him of her, every spoon and ladle and phial she had ever touched brought her image to his mind. Looking up at him with sparkling eyes, smoothing his hair back, the tips of her fingers slithering over the skin on his face and neck, her lips on his, caressing him gently or passionately, the feel of her breasts against his chest…

Severus banished those thoughts from his mind. Perhaps it was better to quickly grow accustomed to the fact that he'd most likely never be touching her again the way he had until—.

Was it better to expect the worst; to steel himself for what could be? What was the worst that could happen? 

Was it that Sariss wouldn't recognize him anymore, just like the Longbottoms didn't recognize their own son? 

Was it that Sariss would be all right on the outside, but full of fear of her own shadow, afraid of everyone who only wanted to help? Those things happened… 

Or was the worst that could happen that Sariss would be perfectly fine—but ignoring Severus, having seemingly forgotten every single touch, every kiss they'd shared, torturing him by her sheer presence, by looking at him so coldly that he'd have to fear for his newly discovered heart to freeze into a clump of ice? She was perfectly capable of doing that. If anyone was capable of piercing through Severus's usually well-armed defences, it was she…

Severus felt so very old all of a sudden.

The Potions master mechanically wrote the ingredients for a Polyjuice Potion onto the blackboard, a very advanced potion they had started on a few weeks ago already because of the lacewing flies, but even the seventh year Hufflepuffs should by now know enough about Potions to brew it without much assistance—after all, it had been their holiday homework to learn a bit about it. Perhaps he'd have them brew it for their N.E.W.Ts… or was an Asclepius Healing Potion a better option?

**Yes, this is good. Think along those lines. They force her out of your mind. Concentrate on what you're doing.**

_I wonder if she's awake…_

**You're in your Potions lesson. You should explain what to do with the boomslang skin and the fluxweed and the knotgrass—**

_The fluxweed. Sariss and I—._

**—and the leeches and the bicorn horn…**

And Severus did so, wishing for this day to end and for the following day to end and for the day after that to end and so on and so on—until he'd be able to see her. She might even call for him, either to have him explain or to throw a single glance at him and then turn away… Both options would very likely lead to the same outcome.

_Where's the happy ending?_

**There's never a happy ending because nothing ends…**

**~*~*~**

Dumbledore sat in the infirmary. Sariss should wake up any moment now. He dreaded her reaction when it came back to her what had happened, what she'd learnt. He pondered applying a few cushioning charms to the windows and some other slightly easily breakable objects, but dismissed the thought as quickly as it had come. They wouldn't be of any use if she lost it. The old man had to admit that what Harry Potter and then Severus, too, had told him had shocked him quite a bit—even though he had hidden his initial reaction quite well and assured Harry that everything was fine. Was it really? Was he, Dumbledore, a hypocrite to ask a hardly grown-up boy to accept the facts, when he himself had a much harder time doing so than the boy apparently had? 

Even Severus had seemed more shocked at the state Sariss had been in—which Dumbledore had been spared, although he had a vivid mental image. Dreadful and cruel was the image. It had to be when it made Severus react that way… And Severus's attitude towards Sariss had seemingly not changed…

The headmaster stood up and started pacing back and forth; towards the window and then back again.

_But I'm afraid no Dementor will cross the threshold of this castle while I am headmaster…_

Everyone knew what he thought of Dementors. He didn't like them at all. One could almost say he detested them. He had been furious when Cornelius Fudge had decreed that the Dementors should be stationed at Hogwarts and had done everything to make sure they didn't enter Hogwarts grounds. Yet they had done so—on more than one occasion. Even the Dementor's Kiss had been performed in the very office that was now Sariss Ravon's…

But was he supposed to hate the little girl who had looked up at him with big round eyes full of fear and questions when he had asked to be allowed to take her away and to Hogwarts to teach her how to rein in the powers that had been forced into her? The woman who fought unknowingly against her very heritage, Voldemort's legacy that ran in her very veins? The woman to whom the Dark Lord's 'gifts' had always been a burden and not the blessing her father had—in his twisted sense of logic—intended it to be?

No, Dumbledore thought. The peacefully sleeping figure lying on the bed in front of him, her face almost as white as the sheets that were drawn around her, this being was no Dementor—at least not in her heart and soul. Voldemort had not created a ruthless killer as he had intended; he had created a much more sensitive and vulnerable being than she would ever have been without his interference. It had indeed been an 'Angel' potion. Her own suffering and the suffering of others had made her who she was now…

Had there not been some sort of inexplicable inner strength she wouldn't have survived at all. She had always found consolation in the most trivial of things. A bottle of Butterbeer, the excitement of a game of Exploding Snap, Wizard's Chess, watching a game of Quidditch. Now he knew why that was so. Those things created warmth, happiness, excitement. The very emotions the Dementor craved. But she'd never sucked them into herself to devour them as the Dementor would have done, draining its surroundings of those emotions—instead she had revelled in them, letting herself be enveloped in them. He had no idea if she did those things on pure instinct or if she'd deliberately sought out places and occasions that had this consoling effect on her. However, he suspected the latter option. She was not stupid; she must have realized what made her feel better… how else could she have coped?

This also explained her violent mood swings. One moment she had been completely normal, happy even, a typical teenager. The next, her face had fallen and she had had to force back the tears. And heavens forbid that she got angry… He had seen this on several occasions; he had thought it were just the memories…

They had tried to determine the nature of the potion that had done this to her. They had asked her so many times what it looked like, what it tasted like, what its consistence was like. Over and over again (until she'd shouted she couldn't bear it any longer). Yet they had never found out what exactly it was made of. Voldemort must have developed it himself, they had thought, and according to what Severus had reported, he had indeed. 

No, Dumbledore wouldn't throw her out. He wouldn't even treat her any different—well, at least not because of what she was. She would have to be treated with care. She'd need all the support she could get. If there was a chance that she'd get over all of this, she'd need him as well as Severus…

_Oh dear, Severus, the stars seem to plot against you, don't they… What am I going to do now? What am I going to do with you? With her? With the two of you?_

Every single part of the puzzle she was had fallen into place when Severus had told him everything the Dark Lord had said…

Dumbledore started. He'd heard a noise.

"Sariss!" Dumbledore exclaimed hoarsely, rushing to her side. "How do you feel, dear child?"

Sariss blinked, gazing up at him with a very confused expression on her face, pale and sleepy, looking remarkably like the child he had met such a long time ago. 

**~*~*~**

"Where am I? What happened?" she croaked, startled at the sound of her own voice. It sounded so frail, even a bit raspy, as though she had overstrained it…

Dumbledore looked at her, saying nothing. Then she remembered; the images flashed through her mind. The words. The sadness. The anger. The pain. She sat up, startled by her memories, and hugged her knees, shivering and wincing as she realized her whole body felt quite sore and numb at the same time. Awful sensations as she remembered their origins. "Oh no! No, no, no, no…" It felt as if that was the only sound she was capable of uttering as she buried her face in her hands. Strangely no tears would come. Apparently, she was beyond tears. It was painful, not being able to cry when this was the only thing that would bring you relief. Sariss had experience in these matters.

She felt a hand on her shoulder. "Listen, child, Severus explained everything. It is going to be al—." 

"Don't touch me," she rasped and pulled away from his touch. She couldn't bear it—couldn't bear being touched, being looked at—most of all she couldn't bear looking back into a face that watched her so intently with an expression of pity and compassion. In a way, this was even worse than a look of the utmost terror and disgust—and she felt disgusting, abnormal, bizarre, unreal. That would have made her angry at least. The look he gave made her feel helpless in addition to what she already felt like. She only wanted to be left alone… not see anything, not hear anything, not having to say anything, not sense anything… 

_I am a monster…_

But she had to talk to him. There were some things she had to ask him, things she had to know…

"Who am I?"

_I am not myself anymore… not the me I remember having been a not so very long time ago…_

"You know it already. You are the Dark Lord's daughter."

_How can he stay so calm? How can he look me in the face and state it so calmly?_

"How long have you known this?" she asked then. "And don't try to fool me by saying you just learnt it!" she hissed, feeling so empty that she couldn't even bring her voice to sound angry or hurt or anything at all. It sounded hollow, even to herself.

"I must admit that—," Dumbledore hesitated, fidgeting slightly, "—I've known it all along. Since the moment I laid eyes on you—no, even before that. It was when the enchanted quill wrote your name on the parchment so you'd be sent an invitation letter once the time came for you to attend Hogwarts… And the name it wrote down was Sariss Electra Riddle…"

"So my life has been a lie…"

"No. No, not at all. You are who you are."

_I am… And I am not. I don't know who I am anymore. I don't know anything anymore…_

"Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you tell me that's why he came for me, that he didn't want to kill me after all, that I was not in mortal danger, that there was no need to be afraid that he'd kill me, that—." She hesitated at first. Then, after she had taken a deep breath she continued calmly, so calmly that she surprised herself with it, "—that he's my father?"

"Nothing would have changed for the better by telling you this."

"You don't know that." Dumbledore wanted to interrupt her, but she continued. "Who changed my name? Did you do this?" she asked harshly.

Dumbledore shook his head. "No, I only changed it on the papers. The enchanted quill and parchment set in particular. But it was your mother, Electra Ravon herself, who gave your name to you. It was her name after all. You must understand that the enchanted quill is… a bit old-fashioned. It tends to use the father's name even when the parents aren't married. We've been trying to change it for ages. The stupid thing doesn't want to listen," Dumbledore apparently tried to be funny—without success. She didn't feel like laughing, not even smiling, not even… anything at all.

**~*~*~**

A lame attempt at making her feel better. Dumbledore had been funnier in the past and he knew it. There was no change in Sariss's expression. A serious, almost blank expression; her eyes empty as though they weren't looking at the outside world at all…

Perhaps it was better to tell her everything now, now that she knew the worst part of it already…

"She knew what would happen when Tom Riddle openly declared himself Lord Voldemort, when he not merely gathered more and more followers but started to terrorize the wizarding world. So she went into hiding. You hadn't even been born yet when she planned this; but Voldemort knew about you and devised his plan. He must have put quite an effort into developing the spell and the potion, which we will from now on call the Angel Potion, although we are a bit at a loss concerning its ingredients—Severus suspects it is something one could call the 'essence of a Dementor'… Yet we do not know what it is made of, how it worked, in which ways it changed you…"

She seemed to be thinking hard as he explained this to her; a line had appeared between her eyes, her mouth pressed into a thin line…

"Where was I?" Dumbledore asked, more to himself than to anyone else.

"Hiding," Sariss provided softly. 

"Ah, yes!" he exclaimed. He hadn't expected a reaction from her. "Your mother went into hiding. The Fidelius Charm was performed as soon as you were born. That's when I became aware of you, when your name appeared on the parchment. The charm wouldn't have protected you had it been performed only on your mother. You had to be born for it to work. You had to be included in the Charm."

She nodded at that. Of course. She knew about that part of the story, the Fidelius Charm. Voldemort had told Sariss and Electra Ravon to what lengths he had to go to find the Secret Keeper and…

"It took the Dark Lord the better part of ten years to develop the spell and potion and to find the Secret Keeper. You were very well protected. And the Keeper was hiding very well himself. Voldemort went after everyone your mother had ever met in her life and finally he found him, Gabriel Prewett, a man who had known your mother from school. A Gryffindor. He volunteered for the part. No one would suspect him, he thought. And he was right about that. It took Voldemort almost ten years to narrow it down to him and find him. The Dark Lord had to tear your location out of him, literally. After he was done, there was nothing left of Gabriel that could have kept him alive."

Dumbledore saw Sariss swallow; obviously, he had painted an all too lively picture…

"Voldemort must have found it quite appropriate to give you all of this on your birthday. I think he really intended it to be a present for you… Be that as it may, as soon as I got word about what happened and the devastation you kept causing, I did everything in my power to get to you before Voldemort would start another attempt, and the two of us made it to Arabella and then Hogwarts—barely, I can tell you, it was a close shave—but ever since, you safely stayed at Hogwarts. I made sure you could stay here during the summer holidays so none of Voldemort's former servants could get his hands on you. They would have tried to bring him back using you and you weren't in the shape to fight them off on your own, then—." 

"Even now, I wasn't up to it," she murmured.

"None of us was prepared for this. And in Hogsmeade! A place full of witches and wizards who wouldn't have hesitated to step into the line of fire for the protection of a fellow witch. The Death Eaters only got lucky…"

"And Snape?" she asked, her voice giving nothing away. It should have.

_Snape?_ "Severus worked as a spy for me. I asked him to return to the Dark Lord, which he managed to do—at great costs…"

"Who?" Sariss had obviously caught on on his euphemism.

"Karkaroff. It would have been only a matter of time until they caught him anyway. If Severus hadn't… done it… someone else would have. But, Sariss, listen up, Severus was devastated when he returned to my office. I've never seen him like that before; not even when he knocked on my door almost twenty years ago and asked for refuge because he couldn't bear the fate he'd chosen for himself any longer. After that, he had worked as a spy until the fall of the Dark Lord. When Voldemort rose again, I asked him to join him once more," Dumbledore explained. Then he sighed deeply and continued in a low and weary voice, "It basically comes down to the fact that I told him to, at Voldemort's command, commit any crime if only it would secure him a place as close to the Dark Lord as possible. Thus, he would take his former position and inform me and everyone else who fought against him about Voldemort's plans. Doing this took its toll on him, I can tell you. He's changed a great deal since then. Even more than he did when the Potters died. The whole wizarding world was celebrating back then; yet he did not even smile…"

Dumbledore sighed. It seemed to him that he did this a lot lately.

"I am not sure how to reveal this to you. Severus might want to tell you this himself…" The headmaster thought for a moment. "I think he should. However, I can tell you as much as this: He blames himself for a great part of your suffering—and I do not only refer to yesterday…"

She didn't reply, didn't look up, didn't move at all… 

Thus, Dumbledore got up. "If you'd rather be alone now…"

That seemed to have caught her attention since Sariss looked up at him, a very thoughtful expression on her face now. She was already processing the clues he'd given her. Perhaps it would make it easier for Severus or for her to come to terms with the situation and each other.

**~*~*~**

_He blames himself for what happened? Not yesterday? Before yesterday? How long a time before yesterday? A great part of my suffering… A very long time ago then… He had been a Death Eater at the time my mother and I had lived in hiding… He must have been barely out of school then… _her brain raced.__

Dumbledore got up. "If you'd rather be alone now…" he said, thus interrupting her train of thought.

He couldn't go now. She wanted to be left alone, yes—but there were still things she had to know; things that were of greater importance than the one she had just been reflecting upon… 

"Why could _he_ touch me?" Sariss whispered, not trusting her voice enough to speak any louder. She knew she was changing the subject quite abruptly, but since the Headmaster had offered to go, she thought that it didn't really matter. After all what difference did it make to the events that Snape worked as a spy for Dumbledore? She couldn't see any connection to the _state_ she was in because of what happened more than seventeen years ago… Yet.

So she continued, trying to specify her question. "He couldn't touch Harry Potter because his mother died protecting him. My mother died trying to protect me—" She clenched her hands into fists. _Control, control. Keep calm_… "Why then, why could he touch _me_?"

Dumbledore took a deep breath.

"Because he's your father, I wager. Because in addition to your genetic constitution he put a part of himself into you," he said. "And I don't mean it in the way that I once told Mr Potter that part of Voldemort presumably was in him. There's much more of him in you because he gave a great part of himself, his powers, his very essence, _deliberately_ to you, using the spell you told us about, the _Delego Facultatem _spell. With Mr Potter, it was just an accident—or at least we think so. We don't know what really happened. However, I have a few suspicions… But back to the point," he interrupted himself, catching her gaze and holding it as one would hold a hand. 

She couldn't look away. 

"Listen closely now. He is in you. He is part of you. Don't deny this part; it is part of who you are. You can't get rid of it. You must learn to accept yourself as you are." He still looked into her eyes, intently. "You're no different from who and what you were before you and… some other people… learnt all this. But the Dark Side touched you yesterday—once again. I understand that all this was not only slightly disturbing. This is what you must come to terms with: Learn to accept yourself again. You haven't changed at all. You are who—and what—you are." He stood and patted her hand; she drew it away. "And there are people who need you, no matter what."

"If you know what happened," she spoke up, "then, do you know if what he said is true? Am I really a… Can I really do those… _things_?" She couldn't yet call them by their rightful names, it was awful, as long as she didn't name them, they were not true, not existent, perhaps…

"A Dementor, you ask?" She winced but nodded slowly. "Well, I must admit, I've been pondering this quite a bit during the last few hours…" Dumbledore answered thoughtfully, sitting down again. "All I can tell you is that everything about you that we couldn't explain has been explained by this revelation." Sariss swallowed hard, yet listening intently. She had to know everything. Perhaps there was a way…

"We don't know if you can really perform, you know—," Dumbledore hesitated, "—_it_. We'll have to take Voldemort's word on this…"

She nodded again. "And Avada Kedavra?"

"On this, we also have to believe him. We wouldn't want to put you to the test, now would we? But I think he told the truth. Your mother died for you. That's quite a protection already… And unless what he said wasn't true, he would have used it on you—or made Severus cast it…"

"He should have killed me. Sometimes death can be a blessing."

"But it wouldn't solve anything. If the Dark Lord wants you dead, you must live, if only to oppose him. Anything—any_one_—he wants dead must live as long as possible. He does not kill without a reason although this may seem so sometimes. You are of much greater importance than anyone could ever have dared to think…" Dumbledore answered. Another one of his thoughtful expressions crossed his face. "He doesn't kill for no reason. He never did," he whispered softly as though to himself. "As to why he _really_ wanted to get rid of you—." 

"Well, I am alive, am I not?" she interrupted.

"I was speaking of living, not just surviving."

"But it's all that matters. Being alive when he wants me dead. Otherwise, there's no point in living when you can't feel alive, when life as you knew it has been taken from you only to be replaced with—_this_…" she indicated herself with an all-encompassing gesture, taking in her whole body. "I survived it, so I shall live for a little while longer then."

"Your body survived this, yes. You're alive, yes. But you never really _lived_, did you? Except for a few moments in your whole life since the night he came for you," Dumbledore whispered sadly. Sariss felt his sadness echoing inside herself. It made her feel even more miserable. She did not need those emotions around her—least of all when she knew they were directed towards her. They added to her own misery and only made her feel worse… 

"You're hiding this very well," he continued. "You'd make a good actress. Not many people would notice the almost constant sadness that hides behind your smile… You really wish you were dead, don't you? You wished it even before this happened, didn't you?"

She nodded, her hair falling into her face, since she didn't lift her head again. "Most of the time, subconsciously perhaps," she admitted almost inaudibly.

Dumbledore put a hand on her shoulder. She gave up trying to push it away; obviously, it was useless. "I wish I could be of greater help to you, I really do."

"It's not your fault," she said, her voice sounding hollow to her, resting her head on her knees as she'd drawn them up.

"And it's not your fault either." Dumbledore got up again. "Perhaps you should talk to Severus? He's been very worried… And he risked his life for you, after all. He won't be able to return to the Dark Lord now that, by saving you, he's shown quite clearly that his loyalties do not lie with the Dark Side. Alas, it has been growing harder and harder every day for him to act as the Death Eater he once was. It can't have been easy to watch all of this, you know? We must thank the powers that are, that the Dark Lord trusted Severus enough to hand the dagger to _him_. If he had killed you himself or entrusted Lucius Malfoy or anyone else with this—you'd probably be dead."

Yes, Snape wouldn't have acted if the opportunity to do so hadn't been perfect. He wasn't the man to do something heroic but foolish. He was no Gryffindor, Sariss thought. And, strangely, she was angry with that. She had no idea why that was so, unless she had really felt something that could be called love for him… 

The thought that he would have stood and watched had the situation been any different, made her angry beyond reason… 

And there was the fact that he held himself responsible for 'a great part of her suffering'—had he had his Death Eater hands in something that had led to… 

She would learn about it. He would tell her, she was sure about this—and if he didn't, she'd ask him directly—or maybe not _so_ directly after all…—as soon as she could look into a mirror again without recoiling from her own reflection… as soon as she could face anyone without feeling as though she was being stared at like a trapped animal in a Muggle zoo… Maybe it was best to simply try and act as though nothing had happened? She could simply ignore it, push it back into a dark corner of her mind. She had always fared best that way…

_If only I could stop thinking._

She laid down, drawing the blankets up to her chin, snuggling into the soft, fluffy pillow, as her mind started racing again, pondering every little part of the puzzle, fitting it into place—as much as she wanted to forget, she couldn't stop her mind from thinking…

As she turned away from Dumbledore, she noticed he was still looking at her, steadily, unnervingly. "I'm tired," she said frostily. _Please, make him leave. I can't yell at him to leave me alone now. I don't have the strength to throw him out… Gods, I feel so empty, so dead_… _I wish I were._

"Poppy said you could leave the hospital wing in a couple of days, as soon as you feel up to it." She heard Dumbledore sigh again. "If you need to see someone or talk to someone, just tell Poppy, alright? You don't have to face anyone you don't want to face—yet. One day, however, you'll have no choice…" he trailed off, his tone of voice sombre.

Sariss heard retreating footsteps, then the sound of the door snapping shut. She closed her eyes, hoping she'd be able to sleep, hoping she'd never wake up again…

**Next chapter:**

Rita Skeeter has her say. A letter from Mrs Weasley, which arouses a few suspicions. Letters with appalling contents. And Severus experiences something dreadful…


	22. Can't Face The Shame

**Author's note:** A short one, this time. *cries* Only a short author's note! A much too short author's note! *wants more people to thank for reviews*

Are the rats leaving the sinking ship or what? Hello?!

Anyway… Thanks go to **Butterfly** and **Miriam**. Prepare yourself to get a bit confused during the course of this chapter.

Chapter 21: Can't Face the Shame

**_And I'll hide from the world behind a broken frame,  
And I'll run forever.  
I can't face the shame._**__

_—Muse: Sunburn_

Tuesday morning during breakfast, a horde of owls swept into and across the Great Hall, almost all of them soaring directly towards Dumbledore and showering him in a cascade of parchments.

Harry knew perfectly well, what this was about, whom this was about and how all those people had learnt about all of this. News travelled fast in the wizarding world… Especially when there were rich and—strange enough—popular pureblood families involved. To put it in a nutshell: Death Eaters. Exactly the people who worshipped Voldemort—who was after all what those very people would call a 'Mudblood' were the circumstances any different; exactly the people who would have served Professor Ravon, too, if she had joined the Dark Lord. 

Harry had a good idea of what was written in those letters. They must be much worse than the ones Hermione had received during their fourth year when Rita Skeeter—a reporter for the _Daily Prophet_—had been literally buzzing all over the school looking for scandals that were in fact none at all. Harry dreaded what that woman could do to a _real_ disaster…

And sure enough, there came a large barn owl soaring towards Hermione, carrying her issue of said paper.

She all but ripped the rolled pieces of thin parchment from the owl's leg. It took off with an angry hoot, flapping its wings unnecessarily briskly, so that a few downy feathers gently tumbled down onto the table.

Three pairs of eyes rested on her hands—which, contrary to their usual accuracy, moved rather clumsily—as she unfolded the parchment, very slowly.

Her eyes scanned the front page quickly, looked at the people who were watching and nodding at her to prompt her to read aloud.

Hermione swallowed and began to read the article to them, slowly and softly.

_DUMBLEDORE AND THE DEMENTOR DISASTER_

_Your trustworthy _Daily Prophet_ reporter Rita Skeeter, dear readers, has received knowledge of something that will not let you sleep at night if you should happen to have your children attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._

_Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of said school, already known for his taking things into his own hands and making rather unconventional decisions has entrusted a woman with the education of your children who is in my opinion as well as yours, I believe, exactly the kind of person or rather _thing _that should never be allowed to even fleetingly look at those students._

_Sariss Electra Ravon, already known for her ruthlessness concerning her missions as an Auror that she was until a short time ago when she had killed Seth Malfoy, a member of the well-known and appreciated Malfoy family, in self-defence—if you want to believe that… In the author's opinion, it came just in the right time for her that the Aurors had been given certain privileges, e.g. rather to kill than let a Death Eater escape. However, Lucius Malfoy, very renowned wizard and cousin of the late Seth Malfoy sees it entirely different. 'She's never gone on well with him. Since school times she loathed him for no apparent reason. I bet that she had been waiting for that perfect opportunity all her life,' he says. 'Using Avada Kedavra and getting out of it unscathed simply because they happened to get the license to kill. How thick do you have to be to make that connection?'_

_A very good question, Mr Malfoy, indeed. A question we should ask ourselves, dear readers. A murderer teaching your children?_

_But there's even more to come. This woman, Sariss Ravon, is in fact not Sariss Ravon at all. She is none other than Sariss Riddle, the Dark Lord's daughter!_

_'She's scaring us,' says a student at Hogwarts who would rather be not mentioned by name for fear his (presumably soon to be Ex-) DADA mistress would punish him for telling you and me what he knows. 'Things keep exploding when she gets angry and it happens a lot. Many of us have been injured already. The younger students are frightened! How can Dumbledore let this go on?' the boy says, looking constantly over his shoulder for fear she'd stand there, breathing down his neck._

_And there's reason to fear this woman—I almost choke on that word, since she's in fact less or more than just a mere woman. That being, looking so innocent and almost pretty with those large eyes of hers and that white skin, is in fact one of the Darkest creatures in existence: a Dementor._

_Now before you rush to conclusions about this, let me explain to you that her beloved father presented her with the characteristics of the very beings that everyone in the wizarding world fears almost as much as the Dark Lord himself. He made her powerful enough to kill with a single glance! She is a weapon and he's going to use it. The thing will join its master like its brothers have already done when You-Know-Who came back to power—or so Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, and a few other people, among them none other than Albus Dumbledore and Sirius Black, godfather of Mr Potter and ex-convict of Azkaban, still claim—much to the dismay of Cornelius Fudge, the Minister for Magic, who seems to be of the opinion that this is the work of someone else but the Dark Lord._

_The Ministry refused to comment on that when your reporter wanted an appointment with some Heads of Departments to discuss this serious matter. Cornelius Fudge, however, sent your reporter a note that said basically, 'We, the Ministry of Magic, deny any involvement with what's currently happening at Hogwarts. We haven't approved of Albus Dumbledore's way of handling the recent and current situations for quite some time. However, it is neither the Ministry's nor my choice to relieve Headmaster Dumbledore of his position. As long as he has supporters, it won't be possible to act against him. The Ministry forces are busy enough dealing with Death Eater raids and unaccounted sightings of the Dark Lord himself. Ridiculous, how one can make up those scary stories when there are enough other Dark forces who have joined against us…'_

_Thus are the Minister's words. He won't act. If he doesn't want to, you must._

_Do you want this thing at Hogwarts where it can effortlessly turn the lives of your children into a nightmare with Dumbledore merely watching the events but not acting to prevent them, with Dumbledore even protecting this thing as he had done all those years ago when he had brought her to Hogwarts as a child?_

_Judge for yourselves, dear readers, but remember: Your child could be the first, or the next, or the last… This is Rita Skeeter, always looking for information to keep you well informed._

Silence had fallen heavily on the four friends as a by now trembling Hermione finished reading.

"I should have let her rot when I had caught her in that jar…" she muttered. "She makes poor Professor Ravon seem like… like… like she wanted to kill us all. This Skeeter cow! I thought she'd learnt her lesson. How come she does this to exactly the people who have nothing to do with the Dark Side? Dumbledore and Hagrid, Sirius and Professor Lupin. You, Harry. Me…" She had to stop to take a breath. "And now it's Professor Ravon, too! I should have let her rot inside that jar. I should have stepped on her, squashed her, when I had the chance."

Even Ron had to admit that, "Skeeter's got a slight tendency towards exaggeration, doesn't she?" he muttered sarcastically.

"Which is the understatement of the millennium," Ginny added, shaking her head. "I bet the oh so very fearful Hogwarts student she's interviewed is a Slytherin. Any suggestions other than Malfoy?"

"Not really," Harry muttered, taking the paper. "Definitely not. Most of the others don't have the brains or the connections to do that."

"Connections?"

Hermione took over. "Lucius Malfoy is in Voldemort's inner circle, one of his most trusted and loyal servants. And who better to join in on his accusations towards Dumbledore and Ravon than his son?"

There was a picture of Professor Ravon. It must be a few years old, because she seemed very much younger on it. Well, even now she looked younger than she actually was. She looked as if she'd rather be anywhere else but in that picture, but the frame wouldn't even let her hide. It was merciless. She looked as though she'd start crying any second; her eyes darted from left to right, looking for a way to escape her onlookers' scrutinizing gazes. _Looking so innocent and almost pretty_, Skeeter had written. It was almost true. Everything except the 'almost', since the black-and-white photograph hid Ravon's pallor and made her look more… real? Was 'real' the word to describe that effect with? 

Harry glanced at the high table where Dumbledore had just arranged the load of letters into neat stacks and started on reading them. He, too, had received an issue of the _Daily Prophet_, which he was scanning now, his eyes darting from left to right several times. Then, with a look of the utmost disgust on his face—Harry had never seen that expression on Dumbledore before—he threw it onto the table as though it burnt his hands. His eyes met Harry's for a second, their usual twinkle had disappeared. Dumbledore once again looked as old as he was. If there was one thing that Harry had realized over the past months, it was that the headmaster and Professor Ravon were quite close. Of course, they would be, after all that had happened. As Harry understood it, Dumbledore was roundabout the closest thing to a family that Professor Ravon had left…

Harry involuntarily wondered whether Professor Ravon, too, had received a copy of that day's _Daily Prophet_, and shuddered to think about how she'd take it.

Rita Skeeter had gone too far once more. She should spend some time locked up in a jar again… But then again, it had apparently not made a lasting impression on her. Maybe someone should simply step on her when she was in her Animagus form.

"I'm not hungry anymore," said Ginny. She had taken an exceptionally strong liking to Professor Ravon ever since she had attended her first DADA lesson. "Dumbledore will have no choice but to sack her. And I was already hoping that she'd stay for another year. She's almost like Professor 'The real one' Moody was—only without the Magical Eye and the 'CONSTANT VIGILANCE!' thingy."

"Yeah," Harry said, lacking anything better to say. 

Another owl swept towards them—or rather tumbled down to land quite unceremoniously in Ginny's bowl of porridge. Errol had fainted as soon as he'd reached his destination; the corner of the letter he bore was slightly soaked.

Ginny gently took away the letter and placed the unconscious owl onto her napkin pouring a bit of water into his slightly open beak. Errol gave a feeble but grateful hoot. 

"Go on, Ginny, open it. Mum must have read the _Daily Prophet_ too. Let's see what she thinks."

"Okay," Ginny said, opening the envelope and pulling out the piece of parchment. "I just hope Mum remembers that Rita Skeeter is not to be trusted."

"She quotes Malfoy. That should get Mum to put a little less trust in the press."

"Let's have a look… She writes she panicked a bit at first, but then read the name Skeeter and thought about consulting other people first this time… Charlie said that Ravon couldn't mean any harm to us. He was attending Hogwarts during her time here. (I didn't know that.) Bill remembers her too, she says. He was in his seventh year when she was Sorted, says she was really small and kind of cute, the Sorting Hat falling down over her whole head… Mum digressed, she always does that," Ginny said apologetically. "She'd like to know what's really going on before leaping to any conclusions this time," she threw Hermione a glance.

"Wait a moment," Ron threw in. "Bill and Charlie couldn't have sent letters that quickly. They're supposed to be back in Egypt and Romania… And none of us has the money to rent one of those speed owls—and even if we did, those birds may be really fast but not that fast."

"Maybe they used the fireplace?" Harry suggested. "Or they Apparated?"

"Maybe. But that would have required Mum to call them first, since I don't believe the _Daily Prophet_ travels that fast. She must have started on that letter as soon as she'd read the article. It wouldn't be here already otherwise. Errol isn't quite as fast as he once used to be—according to Bill."

"So you wager that they're still in Britain?" Ginny asked, although it wasn't a really a question. She was merely thinking aloud. "But they said good-bye and everything last summer when we went to King's Cross…"

"Something is going on."

"It's remarkable how quickly you catch on, Ron. They don't want us to know that they're still here. I have a feeling that they're participating in the conspiracy against You-Know-Who. They don't trust us."

"You sound like Fred and George—"

"Oh! We're going to be late for classes if we don't hurry. Come on, guys, let's go. Have a nice day, Ginny."

"Thanks, 'Mione. You too, guys. Oh, dear, it's really late. I've got to hurry, too. Love you, Harry."

"Love you, too," Harry replied and he meant it. He always did.

**~*~*~**

"Another one," Dumbledore sighed at lunch and shook his head, when Severus joined him at the high table. Roundabout every staff member seemed sad or uncomfortable at best. None of the usual chitchat. Hagrid in particular was staring glumly into his gigantic goblet of pumpkin juice; a large bar of Honeydukes' chocolate was sitting in front of him, a gigantic lilac bow around it. 

Severus had to grant the half-giant that, if nothing else, he had always managed to magick a genuine smile on Sariss's face when she had been a little girl. Not many people could grace themselves with having achieved that task… Until a very short time ago, he still had been able to do that. Well, not anymore. 

"It seems I'd be very busy replying to those letters in the next few days, if I knew who sent them," the headmaster said. "Fortunately there weren't any Howlers."

"Has Sariss seen one of those?" Severus asked, snatching a few letters off the stack that was already sitting in front of Dumbledore.

_Send her back to where she came from… _

_We don't need that thing teaching our children…_

"Not the ones I received. I haven't spoken to her since Monday."

"She certainly received mail. I can't think of a reason why there shouldn't be people who write directly to her instead of you."

_Another one of your mistakes, Dumbledore. Haven't you failed enough already? What's next? Vampires? You Know Who himself?_

"You're right, Severus. Let's just hope she doesn't take them too seriously."

"They are serious. How could something like that not be taken seriously?" Severus held up an especially horrid piece of writing. He suddenly felt not hungry anymore.

_If you know what's good for you, you send the monster to Azkaban where it belongs…_

Severus threw the parchment back onto the table, not even attempting to conceal his disgust and anger. Back where she came from. Easy to say when that 'where' didn't even exist, when she had no 'where' to go but Hogwarts. 'Thing', they wrote. 'Monster', they called her. 'To Azkaban with her', they demanded.

"Anonymous, of course, those bloody—," Severus spat.

"Of course," Dumbledore said softly.

"Hypocrites. I bet everything I ever owned that the people who sent the more creative ones among those letters would have kissed the hem of her robes if she had joined Voldemort."

"Possible," Dumbledore muttered.

"How is Sariss?" asked Severus, his anger being replaced by something much more persistent.

"Frankly, Severus, I don't know how she is at the moment. Poppy said that physically she's quite all right again. Fortunately, there won't be any scars left—nothing to remind her of that dark day. According to Poppy, she's sleeping quite a lot."

"Is she allowed to receive visitors yet?"

"If she wants to."

"I'm going to see her."

"I'm not sure if that's a good idea."

"Why not?"

"As of yet, she doesn't seem to want to see anyone. Not me. Not Hagrid. Look at him. He's heartbroken."

"She might just want to see me."

"It's worth a try. But are you prepared to suffer a disappointment?"

"No," Severus said, getting to his feet. "But I'll do it anyway."

**~*~*~**

A week after he'd once more turned his back on the Dark Lord, Severus Snape was in the Potions dungeon. Lessons were—thankfully—over for today. However, unfortunate for Severus, he had not managed to give a single student detention… So he had to clean up the dungeon all by himself. No one had caused a mess that would have justified detention.

Strange. Sariss's sense for justice and a certain amount of fairness must have rubbed off on him…

Sariss. She was still in the hospital wing. She wouldn't see him when he had wanted to visit her—thrice. She hadn't asked for him later on either. 

Silence. Nothing. As though she weren't even there. As though she had never been there.

Utter silence.

He missed her. He missed her voice, her touch, her very presence. As much as she annoyed him sometimes, he missed her. 

Curious how only the absence of something that had been there for quite long a time made you realize what it actually meant to you… as if Severus needed reminding…

Having finished tidying the room, he set to work on some Dreamless Sleep Potion, once again. Lately he felt as though this was the only potion he was brewing—if only to get at least an hour or two of sleep—for himself. For _her_… If she found herself needing some, it would be waiting for her. Just as Severus waited.

_Sariss…_

She occupied Severus's thoughts even when he was asleep, insistently refusing to leave his mind. Severus had started having nightmares. Bad ones. Terrifying ones that the potion seemingly couldn't ward off any longer. And what was worst: He remembered them very clearly when he woke up, his feverish mind refusing to forget the images… 

But even worse than that was the fact that he knew that they were not just imaginations, images thrown together to turn a dream into a haunting. No, there was too much truth in them. He wouldn't think about them now. He wouldn't think about her, lying there, bloodstained… Unmoving… So close to death that he could almost see an indistinct shape reaching for her with its spidery fingers—.

In his dreams, that was usually the moment when he woke up, screaming her name…

There was a knock at the door. 

"Come in," he muttered, surprised. Who ever would knock on the door to a classroom when lessons were over for the day?

The door opened with a slight creaking noise. 

"Se—P-Professor Snape…" a very soft voice said, stuttering a bit as though she were forcing herself to speak, a very familiar voice.

Severus whirled around.

She was there. She had come to him. She looked even paler than usual, if that was at all possible, almost bluish, especially around her eyes, tired and sunken; even her usually cherry-coloured lips were almost white. Her eyes were focused on her visibly trembling hands that she was wringing furiously as though she were trying to rub them warm. 

**She must have been released from the hospital wing,** the analytic part of his mind registered.

"Sariss—," he croaked, at a loss for words, unable to will himself to say more or move towards her even though he wanted to.

"I…" Sariss's voice was barely above a whisper, a quavering, forced, whisper as she raised her eyes a bit. She swallowed, shook her head and then breathed, "I can't…"

And she was gone as though she had never stood in the doorway. She hadn't looked up at him. She had stood there as if she were to be led to the gallows. As though it had taken her all the strength she had to face him—which she had not, since she hadn't looked into his face, not really. She hadn't looked _at_ him at all. If anything, she had looked _through_ him, her eyes darting around wildly, not sure where to rest on, like the eyes of a hunted animal…

**What are you waiting for?**

After a short moment of hesitation, he threw the Dragonhide gloves back onto the table and quickly crossed the room and rushed through the doorway to hold her back. After a few yards, he stopped running. He'd just seen her black cloak disappear, its distinct rustling that he could by now have told from everyone else's robes, the sound of her steps, fading until there was only the sound of his anxious breathing. He would never catch up with her; he wouldn't even be able to follow her if she continued at this pace or not. He cursed silently at the fact that Hogwarts was such a maze, a maze Sariss only knew too well. If she wanted to, she could disappear in a way that made him think that she could walk right into the walls—or simply change into her Animagus form.

With a deep sigh, Severus returned to his most certainly ruined potion. It was not important. He didn't care about such trivialities anymore. And it didn't work very well anymore anyway. If he added a bit more nightshade, it would work again—but too well. Increase the dose only slightly and it would let you sleep forever. It would make you drift off imperceptibly… And then you'd be dead… Without even realizing when death came for you…

No more potions then. More nightmares instead of more nightshade. Nightmares, starring Sariss. Sariss who had just left—or had he only been imagining things?

Perhaps he should have run after her, even though it was a task destined to fail, trying to catch up on her when she literally knew how to disappear into walls. Secret passages. There were too many…

However, had he followed her he would have found her just around a corner, slumped into a sitting position against the wall, her knees drawn up, her head bent, shivering, but not crying. No, he would have found her face still as a statue, staring into nothingness…

Severus Snape felt a twinge in his heart. He had been hoping so much that she would ask for him. Dumbledore had informed him that he had spoken to her. He had told him what she had said… How calm she had been… It had been six days since Dumbledore had spoken to her. Sariss had not called for anyone at all. She hadn't spoken more than a dozen words to Poppy either… Poppy had said all Sariss had done was lying in bed, sleeping (sometimes rather fitfully) or staring at the ceiling…

Oh, how he wanted to make everything undone! How he wanted to take all of this away… She had seemed so happy when they had last spoken to each other in Hogsmeade, over a Butterbeer… When she had responded to his kiss, brushed his hand with hers, smiling at him, said his name…

The thought alone made his soul ache. Severus had only recently become aware of the fact that, despite everything that he had done, he still had a soul. He had thought he had been losing it more and more each day for a very long time. But now that it hurt, he knew that it existed, that it was still there—or perhaps it had come back again when he had thought he had lost it forever…

She had revived it. Severus knew it. Her sheer presence seemed to breathe life into him. Every passing second he could sense it more and more clearly.

She was not the Dementor Voldemort had wanted her to become. She was still Severus's Sariss. She'd always be…

It was then that he realized it. She had called him 'Professor Snape.' Why had she done that, now? She hadn't called him 'Professor Snape' when they were alone since Valentine's Day… Had it only been a slip of the tongue or had it been a deliberate choice of words?

He feared the latter, knowing that Sariss paid very much attention to such small details. However, now that she had been released from the hospital wing he'd see her more often—hopefully. She would take up her lessons again soon… She would be in the Great Hall at mealtimes—hopefully…

Severus still held onto this thought when he went to sleep.

**~*~*~**

Severus Snape was brewing a potion, preparing it for the lesson that was scheduled for the next day. He peered intently into the swirling whitish-blue liquid that simmered gently in a small pewter cauldron. It would take a few more steps and a few more minutes until it was finished; it was a very demanding potion. One mistake and it would be ruined… So he carefully stirred it after he had added a bit of bicorn horn powder—when the one person in the world he was constantly thinking of and waiting for came to him…

The door creaked lightly, then fell shut. Light satin-slippered footsteps, the unmistakable rustling of her robes, then the equally unmistakable scent of her perfume, enveloping him like a cloud smelling of cassis, vanilla and roses, and most importantly strawberry, a cacophony of scents, that dreaded to cloud his thoughts…

Severus smiled, but didn't turn around, stirring the contents of the cauldron as though he were alone, adding a bit of aconite and fluxweed. The very fluxweed he had dropped so clumsily on a very special day…

She was very close to him now. Her scent hung around him like mist; he felt he could almost touch it if he wanted to. If he turned around now, he'd be face to face with her. His smile widened. _I could have you moan my name already, listen to your sighs when I press you against the wall, your arms and legs around me, your hands running through my hair, your lips on mine, your whole body responding to my touch, my every movement…_

The thought alone made him shiver with anticipation.

He'd wait for her to make the first move this time, let himself be seduced by her—after, perhaps, a bit of light-hearted bickering first. That always made her smile. He loved her smile. She smiled often, but rarely it happened that her eyes sparkled when she did so… A little verbal duel sometimes managed to do that. A snide remark here and there, a snide remark in return. Like playing ping-pong. He'd see who of the two of them would prove to be the more patient one this time.

Another soft rustle indicated that she had moved even closer now. Her hands snaked around his waist. He could feel her stand on tiptoe and brush his hair aside to press her lips to the skin of his neck. Feather-light kisses she trailed up to his ear. It made shivers run through him, very familiar and very pleasant ones. He tried hard not to let her notice how it affected him, although he knew that she knew he was extremely affected by what she was doing. However, he didn't betray himself; instead of sweeping her up into his arms, drowning her in deep hot kisses, that would make her melt against him, he continued to stir his potion, seemingly unaffected by her attentions. It was hard work to pretend being unaffected. Really hard work.

"It's late, Severus. Come, let's go to sleep?" she asked softly, her breath lingering on his earlobe, while her hands roamed about his chest pressing his back against her.

"I've got to finish this first," he said, very conscious of the curves of her body against his back, the way her breasts were pressed against him. 

**Keep her waiting a bit. Play with her the way she likes to play with you. Make her wait.**

"Oh, don't let yourself be distracted by my presence. Just ignore me," she said in a very low and husky voice, her lips caressing him unutterably tenderly, "if you can." For emphasis, she let one of her hands wander a bit lower and he had to take hold of it before she reached a dangerous area. Meanwhile, his other hand—shaking slightly—threw another one of the ingredients into the cauldron, then continued stirring the bubbling, now syrupy and dark wine-red potion. It looked disturbingly like blood… Was it supposed to look like that?

He shook the thought off. It looked just like it was supposed to, didn't it?

He drew up her hand and blew a kiss on her knuckles, inhaling the fresh, soapy scent that mingled with the fragrance that was so completely part of her that Severus didn't even ponder whether it was really there and other people also smelt it or whether only he perceived it. 

"I'll be with you in a couple of minutes," he said, releasing her little hand.

She merely continued to trail kisses over the small part of skin that was accessible to her, drawing small circles with the tip of her tongue, her hot breath making the little hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, sending more and more difficult-to-suppress shudders through his system. Her hands slid inside his shirt, which she had miraculously managed to pull open without him even noticing.

"Sariss," he tried to sound threatening—quite in vain.

"That's my name." Her breath lingered.

"If you don't stop this now, I am most certainly going to ruin this potion and will have to start again from the beginning. And then it will take another couple of hours till I can join you in bed. Do you want that?"

"I can't believe how damn sensible you manage to be when I do my best to draw you away from this stupid stuff," she said, pouting. "And I can't believe that you choose a cauldron over me."

"Give me another ten minutes and I'll show you whom I choose over what," he replied, gesturing towards a nearby desk. "Now sit down and don't you dare come so close again until I tell you I'm finished."

She groaned in indignation but let go of him anyway—the sudden absence of her softness was startling—and made her way towards the desk he had indicated, but smiled and bit her lip as she threw him a wicked glance over her shoulder; a very slow look it was that she gave him, a very seducing look. And then she undid her hair, letting the silky tresses fall down past her hips, like a very dark brown waterfall. She shook her head to jerk it out of her face—reflexes of ruby and burgundy rippled through her hair when it settled down again—and raised her eyebrows suggestively, as she ran her hands over the contours of her body…

_So alluring, the little wench…_

"And don't you dare do something over there that could draw me away from this potion," he said quickly, when she made herself comfortable on the desk instead of only sitting down; her head propped up on her elbow, one leg dangling over the edge, the white gown she wore having slipped up to reveal her naked thigh. "Especially something that involves this nightgown of yours slipping any higher—or lower," he added equally quickly, when she let it slip over her shoulder, exposing another patch of smooth white skin… And the way a few wavy strands of her hair sneaked over it… They must be tickling her slightly… So seductive…

_Enticing… Enthralling…_

Severus took a deep breath. "Patience is a virtue."

"Oh, right now it's only annoying. You'll see where it gets you," she drawled. Severus smiled, his face hidden by his hair.

A dash of leech juice, half a dozen of ashwinder eggs and a few minutes—that he had spent waiting, watching Sariss lounge about the desk out of the corners of his eyes—later, the potion was finally finished. Those minutes must have been the longest ones in his entire life. Minutes that could have been spent doing much more pleasant and riveting and absorbing things. Things that weren't so much an intellectual challenge, yet requiring as much skill as playing an instrument… Things that involved tangled limbs, flushed skin, and moans and sighs…

He poured the liquid into a bottle and then, deliberately slowly, he moved to put every ingredient, every ladle, every single thing he had used back into the place on the shelves where it belonged, watching Sariss, who was now lying flat on her stomach, impatiently drum her fingers onto the surface of the desk, making faint clicking noises when her fingernails made contact with the polished wood. 

She didn't look up when he bustled around, tidying up a bit. In fact, after a while, she didn't move at all. He couldn't even see her breathe.

Once he could think of nothing else to do, he soundlessly walked towards her, brushed that rich hair of hers aside and lavished a couple of wet hot kisses onto the soft, cold patch of skin on her shoulder and neck that had been exposed to the coldness in this dungeon for far too long a time, considering the fact that it could already be burning with desire and passion.

She still didn't react. Not even a sigh. She should turn around, wrap her arms and legs around him, devouring him in a long and deep kiss, as her hands busied themselves with getting his robes off of him…

"Why so quiet all of a sudden? I remember you being quite vocal usually, although not very coherent," he teased, his lips lightly touching her ear.

Silence.

This was strange. She had never been able to ignore him the way she did now. There had always been a reaction to his attentions. She might be good at hiding her feelings, but she could resist the sensations of his skin against hers no more than Severus himself could. Sparks should have been flying already…

"Have I kept you waiting for too long a time? You see, I intend to show you that patience can be very rewarding sometimes," he said huskily.

No reaction whatsoever.

"Oh, come on. Don't play hard to get now. If that potion hadn't been so demanding, I would have ravished you on the floor already… As if I'd ever choose anything over you," he mumbled against her ear, inhaling the scent that was so unmistakably her as the colour of the sky on a sunny day was blue. "I was only teasing you a bit."

Still no answer. Not even a sharp intake of breath…

He started getting frustrated. "Sariss, please, say something. At least shout at me for having you deliberately made wait so long…"

He moved to lift her up. 

Her hand slipped off the desk and dangled limply.

"Sariss?" Severus grew worried. This was not funny. "Sariss!" 

He rolled her over. She was staring at him lifelessly, her eyes dull and empty. Severus's mind hadn't yet processed what it saw there. Only when deep crimson blood began seeping through her clothes, livid against the white colour of her clothing, soaking her hair that was clinging to her already, sticky and wet, and spread over the surface of the desk, dripping to the floor where a small puddle appeared quickly, he realized what this meant. Only when gashes ripped open on her cheeks, her bare arms and shoulders, when blood trickled out of the corner of her mouth, he realized that she was…

**You've waited too long.**

"Sariss, my god, Sariss!" he croaked. "You can't be dead! You mustn't! You can't leave me!" Roughly, he pulled her limp body up, grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her, screaming her name over and over again as though he could make her wake up again—which wasn't possible.

Her head was lolling from one side to the other with every desperate shake he gave her. It was useless.

He was at a loss. He didn't know what to do. There was no way to help her… No way to make it undone…

_I've waited too long… _

The perfect opportunity had passed without him even noticing when exactly it had been, that it had been there at all…

So he did the only thing he could think of. He simply pulled the dead body, that had minutes ago been so full of life, into his arms, not caring that her blood must be all over him, soaking his robes, staining his hands and his face as he buried it in her wet and tangled hair that was dripping with blood, the same colour the potion had been. He couldn't even remember what kind of potion it had been at all…

"It's your fault," a soft, yet harsh, voice said into his ear.

In horror, he pushed the corpse of the woman he once had so desperately wanted away.

The once so very rosy lips moved, yet there was no life in them. "It's your fault," the thing that had once been his beloved Sariss hissed once more.

"Sariss," he mouthed, his eyes wide open, staring right into the face he had kissed so many times. It stared back at him, the eyes having by now lost their pleasant calming green-golden shimmer completely, only to be replaced by dull colourless orbs that gave nothing away of what she had been to him. "Please, Sariss, I never wanted this to happen. I am sorry. Forgive me. Please, forgive me. I never—."

Her hands clasped themselves around his throat and squeezed. He struggled half-heartedly, knowing that he had no chance against her—she was too strong, the strength of a Dementor—knowing suddenly that he deserved what he got, yet not quite able to tell for what it was or why or whatever. He could feel his very life seep out of him as she squeezed more and more tightly, her dead, pale, lifeless, empty eyes locked with his… In her unblinking eyes, he could see the reflection of his own panic-stricken face looking back at him.

"No," he croaked, desperately trying to push her away now, his lungs aching for air, trying to keep his eyes open as if that would save him from suffocating.

A high-pitched laughter escaped her mouth then, and before his very eyes, she transformed into Voldemort; the eyes no longer large, pale green and brown orbs or lifeless mirrors, but red, gleaming, narrow slits.

The voice was no longer hers when the thing spoke up, "You didn't really think you'd ever have her, did you?" Voldemort laughed again. It echoed off the walls, multiplied a thousand fold. "You didn't really think she could ever love you? You of all people! You, who would have raped and killed her—a so very beautiful and so very defenceless woman—without a second thought had I commanded you to do so hardly twenty years ago?"

"Please…" The thing's grasp became even stronger; it's fingernails digging deep into the skin of his throat and neck.

"And to think that you claim to love her when you didn't even have the guts to die with her. No, you had to watch her suffer more pain than anyone before has ever suffered—and then you acted—not because you couldn't bear it any longer but because fate offered you a way to make it stop. You don't even deserve to be looked upon the way she did. She won't ever do so again; you know that, don't you?" It laughed its insane laughter again. "No look, no word, no touch, no kiss, no love—only hate and disgust."

"Sariss…" he forced over his lips. His last breath would carry her name into the void that was suddenly around him, the dungeon having vanished into darkness already…

Everything went black—.

"Sariss! No!"

Severus Snape's eyes snapped open and he jerked awake, breathing hard, gasping for air like a drowning man, sweating, the Dark Lord's laughter still echoing in his ears…

He found himself lying in his bed, in his chambers, empty except for him, the sheets tangled around his body as he sat up, looking around in confusion. No dungeon, no potion. No Sariss…

The memory came back as though a light had been switched on. The memory of his nightmare as well as the memory of reality.

In a sudden panic, Severus reached for his wand that was lying in its usual place on the bedside table and muttered a spell that illuminated his rooms in a gentle light, so he could take a look at his hands, see if they were stained with blood, see if his shirt clung to him because he was sweating so badly or because it was her blood…

No blood.

A dream. It had been only a dream. A dream too lively, too real, too unbearable… 

Only a dream. Not reality…

"She's alive. She's alive," Severus kept repeating for several minutes, resting his head on his knees, which he had drawn up, pressing his hands to his temples—as though he could squeeze the memory out of his brain by doing so—until his breathing and heartbeat had slowed down to a reasonably normal pace.

Then he fell back into the pillows and stared at the ceiling, wide-eyed, intending never to sleep again.

The dream he once had, had turned into a nightmare. Just when he had been getting comfortable, something had happened that had spoilt everything. The parallels with his life were clearly identifiable.

The Dreamless Sleep Potion had finally ceased working on him any longer. It didn't work at all. No way to ward off the nightmares. They were getting worse and worse. The last one had been terrifying. This one made him want to drown himself in the lake or brew one of those slowly working poisons that would make him suffer the way he deserved to before it would kill him. 

There was too much truth in it; his subconscious had unearthed memories he had thought he had buried, gotten rid off, memories he had thought he had finally managed to forget, to replace with beautiful moments, memories of tender and gentle but also passionate and fiery kisses, memories of her hands running over his shoulders and back, clasping themselves to him as though they'd never release him from their embrace… 

"Damn you, Severus Snape, damn you," he whispered hoarsely. "Damn you…"

**~*~*~**

Dumbledore knocked at his Potions master's office door. There was no answer, but he knew that Severus was in there. Where else would he be? The man didn't spend much time in his quarters as long as he could avoid it. And as he hadn't been at dinner…

Thus, Dumbledore made to open the door. 

It was not locked.

"Severus?"

Snape was sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace. The fire was burning exceptionally high. The flames were almost licking at the mantelpiece.

Severus didn't answer. He was completely silent and didn't look up. His gaze was fixed on a large black piece of clothing, which he clenched in his hands. And then he threw it into the fire, almost smothering it as he did so. 

"Severus, what are you doing?" Dumbledore asked, although it was plain to him what Snape was doing, and stepped closer.

"Cleaning the house," Severus said hoarsely. "Or rather my life. If only I could burn past events just as easily as those cursed mask. I want to erase it all." The Death Eater mask, too, met its fate. It followed the robe into the fire.

"Severus, you did all that was in your power. You saved her. There was nothing more. You have done everything you could. You saved her life; and you also saved your own. What more is there to ask of you?"

"Did I? Did I do those things? Have I saved her?" Severus asked. "I don't know. It doesn't feel like it. To me it seems that I failed."

"She refused to see you, didn't she?"

Severus nodded. "Madam Pomfrey said that Sariss was asleep, but I didn't really believe her. I still don't. I'm going to the hospital wing later—as soon as I've gotten rid of what's left. If only I could cut the Dark Mark out just as easily as those robes turn to ashes." 

A pair of gloves followed. The fire ate them hungrily.

"I loathe myself. Sariss was right all along. She said it from the very beginning: I am angry with others because I'm angry with myself. And now look at me! Look at where it's got me!"

Dumbledore didn't answer, knowing that comforting words wouldn't change anything. He knew it because, on a certain level, Severus was right.

"She might not be dying any longer, but she might as well be," Snape whispered bitterly, his voice unusually thick and unsteady. "It doesn't make a difference. Looks like the kiss became a scar after all… Every single one."

Another piece of Severus's Death Eater paraphernalia became food for the flames.

Severus still stared into the fire long after Dumbledore had left…

It would take a while for the evidence of his ugly past to dissolve into innocent-looking ashes. However, it might not rise from the ashes again, but it was still there. A mind doesn't forget blood and death because it fears they'd return if it did so; a soul may be cleaned of the stains on it, but guilt is a persistent inhabitant. It would dwell there for a very long time. Severus would most likely take it with him into the grave. 

All he could seek to reach in his life now was equilibrium. Sariss had become the key ingredient in the potion that was the Potions master's soul. What would happen if she refused to add to it?

**Next chapter:**

Death Eater raids. Harry feels like a bad person. Severus still feels sad and guilty. Sariss insists on teaching her lessons but avoids Snape as much as possible at all. And Ginny drives all horrible images from Harry's mind. 

**Author's note:** The first half of the nightmare was strongly inspired by 'I'll stand alone' by Crystaviel. It took a while for the pages to download and save to my HD and somehow I peeked into exactly that chapter… I believe I'll never get enough time on my hands to actually read the whole thing… I haven't even started yet… So please don't sue me, Crystaviel. It was just so inspiring and fitted so perfectly in with that other dream…


	23. I Want To Scream

**Author's note:** Extremely big thanks go to Blaise! Thanks also go to Miriam who apparently tried to review (but ff.net somehow…) Where is everybody else?

Oh and please do me a favour and read **Blaise A. Snape's** new story. It's called **Fallen Angels** and it's bloody good! (I should know, as I'm her beta *grins*)

Chapter 22: I Want to Scream

**_More than angry words I hate this silence_****_   
_****_It's getting so loud_****_   
_****_Well, I want to scream_****_   
_****_But bitterness has silenced these emotions_**

_—__Savage Garden: Hold me___

Harry had the impression of some sort of fireworks display taking place as he approached a village he didn't know. He had no idea where he was—again. A strong indicator that this was going to be another one of those _real_ dreams.

The many-coloured flicker of numerous fires silhouetted the houses that weren't burning already against the night sky. One of them went up in flames as another one collapsed like a house of cards; particles of dust and ashes hovered in the air.

There was another flash of red light, quickly followed by one that was almost pleasantly green, its somewhat gentle colour betraying the fact that it was the Killing Curse that was being cast repeatedly, that every time it lit up, a life was being wiped out.

Harry kept walking towards it. There was the sign that bore the village's name. His breath caught in his throat. He didn't remember it, but he had been here before.

Godric's Hollow.

He walked on, wide-eyed, staring at the people who died before his very eyes, the people that left their houses screaming their beloved ones' names in their panic. A light-haired young woman stumbled near Harry and he instinctively reached out to catch her before she fell—but it was as if he weren't there. She fell; Harry jumped back in a reflex, as his feet would have been right where her torso now lay. It was as if Harry were a ghost. He was doomed to watch. He could do nothing as the familiar flash of green light went right through him and struck the woman—who had apparently scrambled to her feet again—right in the stomach. She didn't move anymore.

Death Eaters. The place was swarming with those hooded figures and frightened people, a large number of them obviously Muggles as they looked around in utter confusion and begged for their very lives—in vain.

Harry felt he had to get out of there. Blindly, he ran on, paying no notice to the fact that he was running through Death Eaters and Muggles alike. He went around a corner.

The sound of the attack was muffled now; the lights weren't visible anymore. Only the light of the moon provided a means of orientation now—and it illuminated someone Harry knew.

"Professor?" he asked breathlessly. Was he imagining things? She was supposed to be at Hogwarts, wasn't she?

Professor Ravon sat slumped in a corner, her arms around her knees, curled up in a ball, and was rocking back and forth, glittering tears rolling down her pale bloodless face.

Harry wouldn't have noticed her if it hadn't been for the light colour of her clothing. She stood out sharply against the darkness—that was, however, now illuminated by an acid-green glow, as the Dark Mark, huge and ominous, had been fired into the sky.

"Professor?" he repeated, slowly walking towards her. Then he lowered himself down on one knee, cautiously reaching out for her, fully expecting for his hand to pass right through her arm and knee. It didn't. She seemed to be the only solid being apart from himself. Was she having this dream, too?

What if Voldemort, too, entered it? He'd done it before. Harry was strangely aware of his other dreams when he was having another one like them.

"Come on, you don't want to stay here. Let's go," Harry said, pulling her up like a mother would prompt her child to go back to sleep after having run into their parents' room because of a nightmare that had them wake up.

In that moment, she wasn't Professor Ravon. In that moment, she was an abused child hiding from her father.

Harry gently steered the silently sobbing woman out of the alley.

The Death Eaters seemed to have left. Everywhere were dead bodies and smouldering remnants of houses. And right in the middle of the worst devastation, a single wall was left standing. It bore three words written in foot-high letters, YOU DID THIS.

A stifled sob came from Professor Ravon as she dropped to her knees at the sight of it.

It was a message for her. Harry was sure of this. Voldemort wanted her to know that she'd bought her life with the lives of dozens of innocent people…

And _wham!_

The location suddenly changed as if someone had changed the channel on a TV set.

This was a place Harry knew. After all, he'd been living there constantly for ten years and the greater part of his summer holidays. Little Whinging, Surrey.

Harry pulled Professor Ravon to her feet again. "Come on. Walk."

There was Mrs Figg's house. It was a smouldering pile of burnt wood and splintered glass.

"No!" Professor Ravon croaked.

"This way," Harry said. "Let's get away from here…"

He didn't know why, but somehow he automatically went in the direction of the Dursleys' house.

"Go back inside," Arabella Figg's voice shouted. Harry would know that voice anywhere.

"Bella…" Professor Ravon whispered.

"You're one of them!" Aunt Petunia screeched in horror.

"Go back into the house. You'll be safe there," Mrs Figg shouted desperately as the Death Eaters came closer and closer and kept firing curses.

"We won't be trapped inside our own house!" boomed Uncle Vernon.

"You don't understand. The magic is there for your protec—." Mrs Figgs broke off as she dodged a curse. The elderly woman was surprisingly agile for her age all of a sudden.

"Mum, Dad, what's all this?" Dudley asked, looking around wildly.

Mrs Figg dodged another curse, fired a duelling hex herself and then Disapparated just in time before several green flashes zoomed across the spot where she had been seconds ago.

The Dursleys refused to go back inside a house that was protected by magic. They paid for it with their lives.

Harry felt nothing when he saw the Killing Curse hit them; when their lifeless bodies fell to the ground, their eyes having that dull look to them that a pair of eyes could never fully attain in life.

And there was another wall. There was another message, just like the first, Harry had seen.

ANOTHER FAMILY. WHICH NEXT?

And the Dark Mark was fired into the sky before everything grew eerily quiet.

Again, the location changed. Again, people died. Again, a message was left behind.

Harry hardly noticed any changes anymore. His head was hurting.

AND AGAIN, YOU WEREN'T THERE TO SAVE THEM…

Professor Ravon was sobbing and buried her face in her hands, whispering something incoherent, as Harry pulled her with him. He couldn't just leave her; he couldn't let her sit down somewhere. He couldn't simply abandon the only person in this nightmare that he could do something about.

REFRESH YOUR MEMORY.

The lifeless body of a woman fell down at Harry's and Professor Ravon's feet.

Dead eyes stared up into nothingness, and the Professor stared right back. "No, no, please, no. Please stop," she kept whispering desperately, taking no notice of Harry's presence, taking no notice of the fact that she would have dropped to the ground if Harry hadn't held her up.

The location changed again. And again. And again. There was always the same happening. And no matter how desperately Harry tried to get them both out of the place they had landed in, it seemed that he couldn't get away from the devastation.

At some point, Harry had simply hugged Professor Ravon and turned her face into his shoulder so she didn't have to see any more. She couldn't bear seeing more or hearing more or anything at all.

"Wake up, Professor. Wake up," Harry kept muttering. 

There was another Dark Mark looming in the sky.

"Wake up!"

His voice sounded so loud all of a sudden. It was ringing in his ears…

"WAKE UP!"

Harry woke up because of someone's screaming. It was his own.

Four sleepy and concerned faces came into view as soon as he removed his hands from before his eyes. His scar felt as if it were about to split open any second. His whole head felt as if it were about to explode.

Four anxious voices were asking him if he was alright, if he wanted a glass of water… 

"Just leave me alone, all right?" Harry said, his voice not reliable at all, as he crawled back under the covers. He was terribly cold but the scar was burning like fire.

**~*~*~**

The _Daily Prophet_ arrived even before all of the students had taken their seats at their respective tables. The happy chatter died as soon as the parchments were unfolded.

A large picture of—for lack of any actually fitting description for it—devastation, chaos and death occupied almost half of the first page. The huge headline above the image read

_THREE HUNDRED PEOPLE DIE IN VARIOUS DEATH EATER ATTACKS ALL OVER BRITAIN_

_Over three hundred people—Muggle and wizard alike—have been killed in various small battles all over Britain. Without any doubt, all those attacks were led by Death Eaters. _

_It is suspected that all those attacks happened to divert the Ministry's attention from an attempt at taking over Gringotts. Fortunately, they have not succeeded. As the wizarding world's financial power is gathered there, it would have stopped trade and industry from functioning. The effects of that can be very well imagined._

_However, what they wanted to accomplish by destroying relatively unobtrusive and harmless villages remains to be seen. It seems so pointless as they could have struck at places where it would really have hurt the Ministry… As of yet, the reasons for those brutal and meaningless killings lie completely in the dark, as does the meaning of the words that have been left behind for those to read who'd come to see if there was anything or anyone left to be saved and questioned._

_What do those messages mean? What do they mean by 'Again, you weren't there to save them…'? What does 'Refresh your memory' mean? Who knows it? Who is asked to refresh his or her memory, and what is it about? Who wasn't there to save whom? Those questions might never be answered, dear readers. Yet, if they are, your reporter Vera Truz will gladly share the answers with you…_

The article continued in that manner for another page, listing more of those _messages_. They fell into place like pieces of a puzzle, although it wasn't complete. 

"It's a message for her," Dumbledore said with a sigh. "This article doesn't come as a surprise to me as I'm sure you already guessed. Arabella called in early in the morning to let me know that she's all right. So did several others. They were of great help in analysing these attacks. But Mr Potter's family weren't so lucky. Their house was completely protected—but they ran out of it when they noticed that it was magic that was protecting them. Stupid, stupid, people. Arabella tried to get them to get back in before she had to get out of there herself. No use."

"Are they dead?"

"Yes. As of four o'clock this morning, Harry Potter doesn't have any blood relatives any longer. We'll have to find new protection spells for wherever he decides to live after this school year has ended, spells that do not require a blood relative…"

**~*~*~**

An owl swept towards Harry and dropped the letter he'd been expecting already.

It came not as a surprise at all.

Harry felt strangely numb as he read,

_Dear Mr Potter,_

_We must inform you that Petunia, Vernon and Dudley Dursley, former residents of Number Four Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey, died in a Death Eater attack…_

Then came a few paragraphs about how sorry they were and so on and so on…

Somehow, now that he read it, it became more real than when he'd been dreaming it.

"I'm going for a walk," Harry said and got up.

"Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry," said Ginny. "Do you… Can I…"

"Yes, Gin, come with me, please."

He held her hand tightly when they walked out into the sunshine. It looked as if even the weather mocked the wizarding world by being sunny and sufficiently mild for an early-spring day.

Neither of them spoke until they'd sat down near the lake. Everything looked so peaceful.

"I'm sorry," said Ginny.

"Don't be," said Harry. "I knew it before the letter came. I had a dream last night. Several ones to be exact. I know what's in the _Daily Prophet_. I know more than that."

"My brother seems to keep his mouth shut rather well, sometimes."

"I haven't told him what the dream was about. They all asked me when I woke up with my head almost exploding."

Ginny hugged him.

"You know, Professor Ravon was also in it," Harry said. 

He remembered them rather clearly. The _Daily Prophet_ had refreshed his memory of them. 'Refresh your memory.' 'You weren't there.' What did that mean? It meant nothing to Harry. Did it mean something to her? In the nightmare, she'd looked shaken, as she'd perceived the seemingly bleeding letters on those walls. Harry didn't remember all of those messages. He actually remembered very few details, but he remembered some. "She saw it, too. She was more shocked than I could ever have been. The _Daily Prophet _doesn't know it, but I know that those messages are for her. They—."

"I can follow your train of thought quite well, Harry. I'm not that naïve."

"I wasn't—."

"I know, Harry."

"The point is, I didn't feel a thing when I saw them die. I mean, I felt for them like for everyone else. But don't you think there should have been more than that—I don't know what to call it—it wasn't indifference. It's just that I stopped caring about them so long ago…" Harry trailed off. "I mean does that make me a bad person? They were after all my family."

"It doesn't make you a bad person, because you're the kindest person in the world, Harry."

"Then why doesn't it hurt?"

"Maybe it does. You watched so many people you never knew die, didn't you? You felt for them, you just said it. And you felt for your Muggle family, too, because they also were innocent people."

"What's your point?"

"Just because you don't mourn them specifically doesn't mean that you are indifferent to their deaths."

"I don't want to be at their funerals."

"Why?" she asked calmly. She didn't sound scandalised or something. He had actually expected her to say something along the lines, 'Harry, they are still your family.' She continued, "I understand that they were horrible people."

"I'd be a hypocrite if I attended, you know? Most of the—who am I kidding?—none of the people there would know who I am or be glad to see me. That's my family," Harry said bitterly.

Ginny nodded and gently stroked his cheek.

"Ginny, they… I think I hated them…" Harry said. "I really think I hated them. I'm not the kindest person in the world. I can hate. I do hate. And people die because I am hated. You know, I'm afraid that one of those messages was for me. 'Another family' it said. 'Which next?'"

"But you don't have any—."

Harry took her face in his hands and pressed his lips to her forehead for a moment. "You are my family, Ginny. You're all I have. I'm so tired of him taking everything away from me. I promise I won't let him take you or Ron or Hermione…"

"Don't talk like that," Ginny whispered, placing her hand over his mouth. "I don't want to hear that. It scares me."

"I love you, Gin. And I'm so afraid."

**~*~*~**

"He's systematically destroying her by taking his fury out on innocent people—."

"She, too, is innocent," Snape interrupted the headmaster.

"That's not what I meant."

"I know," Severus sighed.

"Those bastards… She'll blame herself for this. The poor little thing," said McGonagall who had just taken her seat and threw another issue of the _Daily Prophet_ on the table. "Anything new?"

"I'm afraid not. I mean, according to Poppy she's healing very fast—she wouldn't have let her leave the infirmary if it weren't so. But she's been having an extremely bad nightmare last night—perhaps triggered by the Dark Lord, who can tell? Fact is, however, that Mr Potter, too, had a bad dream—although he, as he does frequently, did not entrust me with it."

"How do you know all those things?" asked Severus.

"Let's just say that a bird sang it to me…" Dumbledore said enigmatically. "However, I'm not sure if one has something to do with the other. It might be coincidence or not. In Sariss's case, I can imagine that every slightly bluish spot on her body brings it all up again and doesn't let her rest properly…" Dumbledore trailed off. 

"How is she?" the Potions master asked.

"Why do you ask? Has she not received you? Hasn't she spoken to you? It's been a week…"

Severus shook his head. "No," he whispered; an overwhelming sadness returned as he recalled Madam Pomfrey shake her head and say solemnly, "I'm sorry. She doesn't want _any_ company at all."

And the way Sariss had looked when she'd come to the Potions dungeon. She had seemed so… helpless. So afraid.

"It's just not fair," he muttered, not really knowing what exactly he was referring to by that. None of the things that had happened recently had been fair. It hadn't been fair of fate to let her be abducted; it hadn't been fair for her to be tortured and severely hurt; it hadn't been fair for her to learn all those evil things at once and in such a cruel way. It wasn't fair that the Dark Lord's evil should still reach her via the _Daily Prophet_. It wasn't fair that she hadn't wanted to see Severus either…

**Well, who wouldn't refuse to see you when you can't even bear your own reflection?**

And it hadn't been fair that she'd left the dungeons after merely three whispered words…

**Who wouldn't turn and run away from you after all this?**

"If you'll excuse me, Severus, Minerva," Dumbledore said, "there are some things that have to be taken care of. I am not to be disturbed unless there's an emergency. This whole affair is just… It's a catastrophe…"

**~*~*~**

At breakfast on Monday, more than a week after Professor Ravon had been kidnapped and tortured by Voldemort, Dumbledore had announced that she had informed him that she would be resuming her lessons.

"Ron, remember what we agreed to as soon as Ravon was back teaching?" Harry asked.

"Yeah…" Ron sounded uncomfortable.

"No 'Don't get near me, Dementor!' to Professor Ravon," Hermione said. "Heaven knows this is worse than Professor Lupin's being a werewolf and I can recall your reaction towards him vividly."

Now Ron looked guilty. He didn't speak a word when they made their way to the DADA classroom, where they found Professor Ravon ready to continue their education.

Later that day, Harry wished she hadn't resumed so early. It wasn't that she didn't provide information. The content of the lesson would most likely have been the very same under normal circumstances. She might even have used the same words…

But somehow—maybe it was the atmosphere; maybe it was the complete absence of her usual enthusiasm, the utter absence of a smile or even a smirk or anything at all on her face—it was as though they were being taught by a living statue. 

Harry perceived that she seemed not to suffer from any visible wounds anymore; Madam Pomfrey had fixed her up expertly. There were no visible scars on her hands. Again, her face gave nothing away. But her eyes did. One could see her fight back any emotion that threatened to get the better of her. She seemed to want to cry whenever Harry caught a glimpse of her face. (It was obscured by her hair, which was hanging down as lifelessly as she was.) She might not wear her scars openly, but she had them. Only they went deeper than a superficial one, even deeper than Harry's lightning bolt. She seemed to consist only of scars concealed by healed, but very white, skin. In fact, she was so pale, that her complexion had a faint bluish tinge to it. When she'd walked a few steps, she swayed visibly. Professor Ravon looked as if she were about to faint any moment.

She shouldn't have taken up lessons yet. It was only a few more days until the Easter holidays started anyway. She would have had more than two additional weeks to find her old self again—if it was still there at all. Or maybe she wanted to distract herself? But how could she be distracted from herself when everyone around her felt unsure as to if they could look at her without making it worse? A good deal more than half of the assembled students looked shaken, even more than Harry who'd already had a presentiment about the state she might be in. After all, Harry had had the dream. But there had been so many things to pay attention to that he'd hardly looked at her.

She had even stopped heating the room up to its usual fairly high temperature. She didn't seem to care anymore. She didn't care about the looks some of the Slytherins threw at her—or she pretended not to. At those moments, it was clear who of them belonged to the Dark Side already, as some Slytherin faces still displayed something that could be interpreted as uneasiness or even apprehension. Not so Malfoy. He was enjoying seeing her like this. So apparent did he show his relish, that Harry felt the urge to present him with a collection of well-aimed duelling hexes. Bastard, he thought. Death Eater scum.

But Professor Ravon ignored all that. She seemed not to care about the embarrassed and slightly uncomfortable faces of the other students when she wrote something on the blackboard with shaking hands. She didn't seek conversation; didn't encourage them to discuss what she was telling them; didn't give them homework that would require them to critically ponder the pros and contras of one thing or the other. 

And even though the topic of their lesson—_What happens if two or more different curses hit you simultaneously?_—would have provided good starting lines for a dry comment or joke, she didn't use the opportunity. Harry hadn't realized before, how important a certain sense of humour had been in her lessons; how much fun or excitement they had been.

Compared to the DADA mistress, Nearly Headless Nick was a paragon of liveliness—and he had been dead for more than four hundred years by now.

Her defences were down. Something was missing.

She was simply not entirely _there_.

"This was so strange," said Harry, when the lesson was over.

"It was, wasn't it?" Neville said softly, catching up on the three friends. "I heard she went through quite something, didn't she? No wonder her hands were shaking the way they did. I thought she'd run out of the room any second."

"Yes," replied Hermione, sounding equally subdued. "I couldn't say anything against _what_ she taught us—but _how_ she taught us. It's as though she were running on auto-pilot."

"Auto-what?" Ron and Neville asked as one.

"It's as though she were doing it all so… mechanically… like reading from a book. It seems as though she weren't really there, only her body, not her spirit." Hermione had summed up all of Harry's thoughts in a single sentence.

"I've seen the look in her eyes before," Harry said. "Sirius had the same look in his eyes way back when we first met him, when the Dementors came for him, when they nearly got us all—and sometimes it returns. The Azkaban look. She's far from well. Couldn't be worse." _And she also looked like that when I dreamt of the attacks…_

"It's the torture," Neville said sombrely. He should know, as both his parents had gone through that ordeal and lost their minds over it. "At least I think so. As far as I dare to imagine… No, I rather wouldn't."

"Which is a good thing. Don't even try," Harry murmured. "Trust me, don't—hang on, guys—." Harry noticed that his bag was too light. He opened it and saw that he'd forgotten his _Duelling Hexes_ book. Had his mind been so preoccupied to leave it behind? "I must have left my book. I'll catch up with you."

He hurried back into the classroom, grabbed the book that was still innocently lying on Harry's usual desk and was on his way back when the hair on his scalp suddenly stood on end. He was just walking past Professor Ravon's office. The door hadn't properly closed.

Harry's curiosity got the better of him and he cautiously peered through the gap. Pieces of parchment were flying through the air, bursting into flames at random or shredding themselves or each other (it was not quite determinable which was the case) to pieces. Had she received some spiteful mail just like Dumbledore had? Of course, she would. Harry didn't want to imagine what someone would write in a situation like this, especially when they'd never met her face to face, when they probably thought she was proud of everything she'd learnt.

The room was full of magic. It looked like the sort of event one could repeatedly see in Muggle horror movies. Like a poltergeist as Muggles imagined it.

After a few seconds, however, that eerie sight disappeared—and Harry realized with shock that Professor Ravon might very well have sensed his presence.

Harry cautiously knocked at the door, asking, "Professor Ravon? Are you in there?" A stupid question really. But that way he could pretend that he'd merely seen the door ajar and wanted to inform her about it. She wouldn't want anyone inside her office, rummaging around in her private things now, would she?

He slowly pushed the door open.

"What is it?" her soft voice answered.

"The door… It was open… I… um…" Harry felt awkward. "You sure you're fine?" he couldn't stop himself from asking as he saw her sitting behind her desk, her eyes (which hadn't been properly looking at a student or any other living being for days) red-rimmed and sunken, the rest of her face very white. Had she been wearing make-up before all this mess had happened? She hadn't been that pale before now, had she?

**She looks like she belongs in a coffin. Like a vampire. Bloodless. Lifeless.**

_She looks like she'd been to Azkaban…_

**She looks as if she _were_ in Azkaban this very moment.**

Harry felt his stomach clench. Never before had it occurred to him that Voldemort could actually go after somebody else but him. Not like that. There was a difference between a mere Death Eater attack and being abducted by the Dark Lord in person; being forced to decide between joining him or die; looking into the red slits that were his eyes.

In addition to that, she'd found out that the worst nightmare the wizarding world had seen for decades was her father. Perhaps that was the reason why Harry thought that she looked familiar? Was there more of a resemblance to the memory of Tom Riddle than Harry actually noticed there was? He wasn't sure. After all, he had no idea what her mother had looked like.

_You have your mother's eyes,_ Voldemort had said to her. Harry remembered it clearly. How often had someone said this to him? 'You look like your father but you have your mother's eyes.'

And shouldn't Harry be at least slightly frightened of her? He had learnt everything first-hand, after all. Why was he not scared? If there was so much of a Dementor in her that she ought to be able to perform the Dementor's Kiss, how could it be that he didn't hear his mother scream, didn't hear his father telling her that she should run? Why didn't Harry faint? And why was the Professor herself shaken by the experience of coming face to face with a Dementor, even though it was only the Boggart-version of it?

Shouldn't Harry be frightened of her as she was the embodiment of his greatest fear? Fear. Fear that had been made live flesh. Fear with an actually thinking mind. Another thing he couldn't tell.

Well, at the moment, she didn't look remotely frightening. On the contrary.

There was not that much difference between her face now and the expression on it back then when they'd been having that real nightmare…

Oh, hell! She was a teacher, for heaven's sake. Teachers were supposed to be the strong ones, the ones that protected the school along with Dumbledore. Teachers shouldn't go to pieces like that. No one should be _made_ to go to pieces like she had been made. She didn't even look like a teacher as she sat there, the armchair looking much too big for her. Sitting in it, she looked… lost. Forlorn.

_As though she were waiting for death to come._

Harry's heart went out to her. Ginny would say she needed a hug if she saw their Professor like this.

"Professor—?" he chanced when she hadn't answered.

"Yes," she said. "I'm fine." It was exactly the sort of 'I'm fine' Harry always answered with when somebody asked him if he was fine and he clearly wasn't. She was even less convincing than Harry usually was when he lied about things like that, not wanting anyone to unnecessarily worry about him.

In her case, however, worrying was definitely in order if not mandatory. "Well, if you're sure…" Harry said, fidgeting. He was very uncomfortable, not knowing what to say or do. "You sure you don't need—?"

"I am fine," she repeated, not moving an inch, not even blinking. "Anything else?"

"No… Erm… Just… The door, remember?" Harry awkwardly retreated. "Bye," he said. And the door clicked shut after him.

That had been more than disturbing, Harry thought, turning to go. Why did they let her teach at all? Didn't they see that she belonged in hospital? When even Harry could see that why did no one else?

Through the closed door, he heard an agonizing sighing sob, which was stifled very quickly.

**~*~*~**

Sariss still didn't attend meals. She hadn't been in the Great Hall ever since the day the Death Eaters had caught her in Hogsmeade. Severus hadn't spoken to her since she had been released from the hospital wing—if one could call that 'speaking' at all…

Every time he'd caught a glimpse of her in the hallways and corridors, she had slipped around a corner and disappeared. Even a total fool would have realized that she was avoiding confrontation, not only—but especially—with him, it seemed.

He'd had enough of this. After all, there had been _something_ between them, hadn't there? He hadn't imagined all of this; he couldn't even have done so if he had wanted to. For a very long time, Severus Snape had had no illusions or dreams that would have consisted of a pair of tender hands gently stroking his face or the lips of a so very beautiful woman pressing against his. His nights had been consisting only of nightmares—until she had come into his life… And now his dreams had turned back into nightmares, and she was there, too. He still shuddered at the one he had had a few nights ago…

Would they stop if he spoke to her? If he asked for forgiveness? Forgiveness for not having told her the whole truth when she had asked him a direct question? For every single wrong choice he had made in his life that had seemed so little and unimportant to _him_ but had had a far greater effect on _her_ life? For every single thing or word he had ever hurt her with, directly and indirectly, by doing or not doing?

What if she didn't forgive him? What if she told him to go to hell?—A place Severus would surely see once he was dead, if it existed…

Thinking about those dark things, he went looking for her every time he could spare some minutes; before lessons started, during the short breaks between the lessons, at lunchtime—denying himself the food as she obviously denied it herself—before the afternoon lessons started… And he caught not a single glimpse of her! 

She had apparently perfected her avoiding him…

He had almost given up, thinking he'd never get to see her unless he walked in on one of her lessons and dragged her out of the room by force, when she ran into him right at the corner they had already collided at once.

She looked a bit startled at first, catching her breath; then the blank mask that had been her face recently slammed into place and she brushed past him, resolutely heading in direction of the DADA classroom where she was supposed to be in a little less than five minutes.

"Sariss! Wait!" he shouted through the otherwise deserted corridor as soon as his mind had given his legs the command to finally start to move. However, she did not even slow her pace. He caught up with her nonetheless.

"How are you?" he asked softly, adjusting his pace to hers.

**Very creative start for a conversation.**

_Shut it. I don't need you to feel miserable. I can manage that very well on my own._

"I'm alright," Sariss answered, not even looking at him, not even stopping walking.

This was irritating. "Sariss! This running and hiding doesn't make anything undone," he said, getting in her way.

"And a good day to you, too," she said and tried to get past him. But he blocked her way. This was ridiculous. She was acting totally irrational.

"What is this all about? Why are you avoiding everyone? Why are you avoiding me? Really."

"I'm not."

"Yes, you are. You don't even appear at mealtimes and you apparently hold your lessons as though you were a talking book. Binns is more alive than you are!" He was getting angry. Why was this woman so… stubborn, when all he wanted to do was talk to her? Tell her he was sorry, that he wanted to help her, tell her he… 

He settled for, "Why do you behave like this? Why do you push everyone away who wants to help you?"

"You never said anything about it… this act of yours. You even had the nerve to lie to me. If I had known… You've torn me apart." She had the nerve to state this in a tone of voice that sounded as though she were commenting on the weather or reading from a book, completely devoid of the emotion the words would have implied if she'd just written them down for him to read. But the way she said them, they were hollow and empty—just like her eyes looked now. She looked right past him with those sparkleless, dull eyes, dark circles under them. The image of her in his nightmare sprang to mind. Severus shook it off, forced it back into the dark corner of his mind where his dark past and nightmares usually dwelt.

_She hasn't slept very much lately…_

**And if you ask me, she hasn't eaten very well either. I sound like my great-grandmother…**

_Now that you mention it… Her cheekbones are a bit more visible than usual… only a bit, barely noticeable… If I didn't know her face so well…_

**It's only been a few days. Imagine her in a few more days or—.**

_Don't._

Other than that Sariss looked perfect again, just like she always had, alabaster skin, pink lips, shiny dark hair—although not as shiny as it had been wont to look. To put it concisely, she looked too immaculate for the state she must be in, traumatised and still in shock as she must be.

"Sariss!" he exclaimed, trying to grab her by the shoulders but she took a step back. "How can you say that? I saved you—."

"Did you, Snape? Or didn't you just save yourself?" she said coldly.

The scowl he usually wore on his face slammed into its respective place. He was more shocked and hurt than he could possibly let show. She was right—in one respect at least. How could she know that the thought had indeed crossed his mind? The thought that saving her would provide the perfect opportunity to end his _acting career_—even if, by doing so, he wrote his name on top of the Dark Lord's 'To eliminate as soon as possible'–list, right after the names 'Harry Potter' and 'Sariss Ravon', no, in the Dark Lord's opinion she was not Sariss Ravon; to him she was Sariss _Riddle_, wasn't she? Had the opportunity not been so perfect, he would have stood by and let her die… He would have; there was no denying that—or was there?

And there was the unmistakable fact that she'd just called him 'Snape.' Not even 'Professor Snape' as she'd been so adamant on calling him a few weeks ago (and as she had called him a few days ago when she had entered the dungeons and he hadn't even been able to exchange a word with her since she'd been gone within the blink of an eye). He had always been the 'Professor' until they had kissed for real—for the first time—and she'd called him 'Severus'—also for the first time. No one else had ever uttered his name like this… not to his knowledge… at least he couldn't remember it. 

And now they were back at 'Snape' even without the 'Professor.' He might be an insufferable bastard at times—he unmistakably was, he knew this as well as anybody else—yet he was sensitive enough to tell that—to put it mildly—all of this wasn't a good sign (which was the understatement of the century). Although he had never told her so—nor anyone else—he knew now he was in love with her. No, more than that. _In love_ wasn't enough. He was not simply 'in love' with her; he _loved_ her. Deeply. Madly… And something had told him that she'd come to feel more than indifference towards him, too, the way she'd blushed and shivered when he'd looked at her and touched her; the way her hands had slid around his neck and into his hair… the way she had responded to his kisses, so hungry for his touch… Until—.

"Sariss, listen to me. You can't keep it locked up inside of you. It is going to destroy you. If you would just look at yourself. Have you slept at all? When was the last time you ate something?"

She ignored what he'd just said. Instead, she asked, "What exactly is it you hold yourself responsible for? The potion?" It was not a question. I sounded too quiet for that, almost resigned. She had put the pieces of the puzzle together as only she could. Dumbledore had told him what he'd said to her. He should have known that those few subtle hints would lead her right to the centre of what he had been implying…

"Please, Sariss. I'm so—." 

"That's it, isn't it?" Her eyes now bored into his, a fierce fire burning in them. Her voice, however, sounded as though she weren't speaking to him at all. It was calm, a bit hoarse at best, but in essence, it sounded as though he weren't even there to talk to. He had expected her to scream at him, slap him perhaps… 

"What have you done?" she asked then, completely devoid of any emotion. Thus, the double meaning of her question was even more unmistakable than it would have been otherwise. She might as well have slapped him. It felt like she had.

"I never wanted this to happen. I had no idea that a little bit of research on a new potion would prove the basis for something as awful as what he did," Severus weakly, half-heartedly, tried to defend himself. "If I hadn't done it, someone else would surely have—," he broke off, knowing as soon as he'd uttered the words that he'd provided the perfect line for one of the most classical of answers. And sure enough, there it came.

"You keep telling yourself that. You might just believe it one day." Another statement. Still as devoid of emotion as it could ever be possible.

"Let me explain, Sariss. I want you to know the whole story. Let me tell you. Let's talk this over…" he implored, reaching for her hands. She drew them away. 

"Don't touch me," she whispered hoarsely.

Severus dropped his hands.

"Talk to me," he pleaded. Yes, she had managed to get him to plead. Not many people could claim that they had achieved this. Severus Snape did not plead. He did not cry. He did not smile. He did not love. A Snape did not do such things. Those were in essence what the world thought of him—and it had no idea how wrong it was about that, in more than one respect, if not in every single one of them.

She had ceased to look at him.

Severus closed his eyes for a second. "Please…" he tried again to get her to speak to him—not to _say_ something but to really _speak_ to him, react to what he was saying not only by saying appropriate answers but also showing appropriate emotions.

He almost thought he'd managed it when she opened her mouth to speak. But then she swallowed and just said, "I'm going to be late for classes," and turned to go—but couldn't since Severus grabbed her wrist. Tightly. Her long sleeves prevented their skins from touching. "Sariss…" 

"Let go of me," she said, pronouncing every single syllable dangerously clearly, her voice an equally dangerous whisper. The torches on the walls were suddenly flickering; the telltale static crackle invaded the air. He could almost see her in her Auror robes, so unresponsive to his excuses was she, so merciless. 

Severus ignored it even though the nearest torches burst and died. He knew that what he was trying to do could prove to be a risk. Well, if that was what it took…

"I will. As soon as you've heard me out," he whispered harshly.

"Let me—!"

"Tell me you don't love me." It was cruel to demand that. He knew it perfectly well.

"I…" Her mouth opened, then closed again. He could distinctly see the throbbing of a blue vein in her throat.

"Say it," he hissed.

"I… I don't…" Was she fighting to make her vocal chords obey? "I never…"

"Say it," he demanded, not even noticing that he was tightening the grasp he had on her wrist.

"I… You're hurting me," Sariss said, a tinge of panic in her voice as well as in her eyes.

Severus let go of her arm as though it burnt him, as he saw a tear slither down her cheek. "Sariss, I…" he broke off, since she had turned and continued walking towards the classroom as quickly as she could without breaking into a run, briskly wiping the back of her hand over her cheek, wiping away the tear—the tear that had betrayed her.

The Potions master dashed after her and grabbed her arm once more, turning her around in mid-stride.

"You can't keep running away forever," he stated matter-of-factly, his voice a bit shaky, "no matter how hard you try."

She forcefully wrenched her wrist out his grasp. Severus winced. If he had held onto her a bit stronger, she could easily have broken his wrist, he realized with a start, as she quickly regained her composure, straightened herself and said perfectly calm, once more in a voice that gave absolutely nothing away, "I'm not running. I'm walking." And off she went, her robes rustling and billowing behind her as she rushed along the corridor with long strides and into the classroom, slamming the door with a bang that echoed off the walls.

Snape was too stunned to follow her, too furious, disappointed, hurt, angry, sad—all at once. On the one hand, he would have dearly liked to put his hands around her throat and squeeze, just to get a proper reaction from her, something not quite as meaningless… On the other hand, he wanted nothing more than to hold her in his arms, tell her he was sorry, lavish every kind of care and attention on her, caress her face with kisses—and also be on the receiving end of a bit of attention from her side again. Oh, if only she'd let him.

But she couldn't say it. What was he to make of that? What did it mean? Perhaps it wasn't really the end… Or was it? Somehow, he couldn't convince himself that not everything was lying in ruins…

So he had torn _her _apart? She had torn _him_ apart, too! In this respect, they were equals; they were even. 

"Alright," he muttered to himself, rubbing his throbbing wrist. "Fine. Then have it your way." 

And Severus headed towards the dungeons. The class he'd teach now deserved to be pitied. He'd never been in such a foul mood before—not even during the first lesson after he had taken Sariss to the infirmary. Draco Malfoy had sneered at him then, in a way that had made perfectly clear that, should he ever come across Lucius Malfoy or anyone associated with him in one way or another in a dark alleyway, there'd be nothing good to be expected from them…

**~*~*~**

Harry sat at the Gryffindor table, shoving the food listlessly from one side of the plate to the other and then back again.

"Harry, come on, you must eat something," Ginny said, sounding very concerned.

"I know. It just seems my stomach's on strike."

"Is this because of Professor Ravon?"

"You probably think I'm overreacting… It's just… I don't know… I feel as though I were about to lose an old friend," Harry said, shaking his head. "I don't know why and I can't explain it any better. It might as well be Hagrid, or Dumbledore, or—."

"You don't have to. I hate to see her like this, too. Must be the contrast. Before all of this happened, she was always so very controlled, emitting that aura of power that at one point could scare you away and at another make you feel safe and protected."

"Uh-huh," he muttered, desperately wanting to change the subject. "I just wonder where Ron and Hermione are…"

"Probably snogging in a broom cupboard somewhere—but who are we to judge them?" Ginny said. "It still amazes me how anyone could want to do _that_ with my brother—with _any_ of my brothers."

"You know what? Me too." Harry gave a wry smile. "Ah, finally, there they are. That would have been the first and the last time that Hermione would have been late for a lesson."

"And they _were_ snogging. Just look at Ron's hair."

"Looks a bit like mine actually…."

"Yours always looks like that. I can hardly mess it up properly."

"Too bad, isn't it?"

"Hi, guys. I see you've started without us," Hermione chanced a look at Harry's plate, "or not started, that is."

"I already had that conversation with Ginny. I don't feel like eating today."

"Well, more for me then," said Ron.

"So greedy! Just ignore my brother; he's always been like that—but you should know by now—."

"Whoa! Look at that!" Ron called out, gesturing towards the doors. "Are we in a hurry or what?"

Snape had just dashed through the doorway in the manner that was so unmistakably his as the sneer on his face—at least usually, as today it wasn't there. It hadn't been there for days now. He rushed towards the high table, taking a free seat next to Dumbledore. Snape usually never sat there. Something must be wrong.

"Look at Dumbledore," Ginny said. "Snape must have brought bad news."

"Snape usually _is_ bad news," Ron said.

"Shut up, Ron," said Hermione and nudged him in the ribs. "Look at them. Doesn't look too good if you ask me."

"Bloody right. Snape doesn't look good. You've always been a mistress of the obvious, 'Mione."

"Do you think something's happened to Professor Ravon?" Ginny asked. "Last lesson she looked as though she belonged in the hospital wing. She could hardly write legibly on the blackboard, shaking as she was."

"Yes. I think it's only a matter of time until she breaks down. No one can suffer what she went through and then recover on their own. Is there something similar to a psychologist or psychiatrist in the wizarding world?" Hermione enquired.

"Well, there's St. Mungo's. They deal with everything."

"To me St. Mungo's seems as though it were the final destination. The name only brings the Longbottoms to my mind," Harry muttered. "It sounds like an asylum or something like that."

"Perhaps it's her way of dealing with things. Alone. In silence. Without help. Looks like she's used to that," Ginny said.

"But that doesn't make it alright," Hermione said.

"I didn't say that."

"But she was a good teacher."

"Don't talk in the past tense, Ronald Arthur Weasley," Ginny scolded him. "She's not dead."

"Not yet."

**~*~*~**

"So she's still in shock…" Dumbledore muttered.

"Have you taken a look at her lately? Spoken to her? Even the students realize that something is wrong—apart from the obvious that is."

"She sent me a note that she'd resume teaching, but I haven't seen her since the day after. I wanted to, but she wouldn't see me. I don't want to pressure her. Her mind is frail enough already as it is. I don't want to break her. I'm very concerned, Severus."

Severus nodded glumly.

"She wouldn't see me either. When I intercepted her earlier today, she wouldn't even look at me at first. She wouldn't be touched. She wouldn't be spoken to. You are aware of the fact that she didn't even ask for me when she was in the hospital wing?" he said softly. "After everything that's happened, I really thought she'd—."

"The way I understood Poppy, Sariss allowed no one to visit her, never," Dumbledore interrupted him. "She wouldn't even see Hagrid—and he, too, tried several times. You know she's always been especially fond of Hagrid's company. He seems to have a way with some people…"

"Not this time, I take it."

"She wouldn't be touched by me either. But she'd already told me not to touch her when I had spoken to her as soon as she had awoken."

"At least it's not personal," Severus muttered cynically. "But I had so hoped she'd ask for me, let me see her," he added very softly. "Why doesn't she want to be touched?"

"She feels monstrous, I think."

"There's no reason to. Only a small part of her has been affected by what the Dark Lord did. Perhaps it has even made her more human than human. More humane."

"Apparently, or so it seems, her thoughts don't go along those lines. She doesn't want to be touched by her fellow human beings, because she doesn't regard herself as one anymore. Maybe she sees herself just the way the people who wrote me—and her, I'm sure—those letters see her."

"Then why do you think has she informed you that she'd resume teaching? Why didn't she just inform you that she'd leave?" Severus asked, but then answered his questions himself. "It's because she's trying to ignore everything, pretending that nothing's happened, isn't it?"

"Yes, that's exactly what I've been thinking, too. From a certain point in her life on, she'd rather prefer to ignore things—and from what you've been telling me so far, she seems quite selective about it, too. Above all, she ignores what Voldemort said and did—at least on the outside. When you know what to look for in her face, it's very easy to read her. It has always been that way. But when we talked things over, I wasn't so sure anymore. She should have been crying, or furious—anything. I never thought I'd say that, but she should have blown the hospital wing to smithereens… I don't know what else she should have been or should have said or done."

"I know what you mean. I was _that_ close—," Severus indicated about a quarter of an inch between his thumb and forefinger, "—to getting a reaction from her earlier. But I couldn't… I simply couldn't… You see, I took hold of her arm to keep her from running away and she said I was hurting her, in a voice that…" Severus shook his head, not being able to find the right words to describe her tone of voice with. "And she was looking at me in a way that tore at me… Indescribable. As though she were afraid of me. Frightened."

"I understand very well that you're upset. It must hurt her as much as it hurts you. Especially now that the two of you had finally—how am I supposed to state this?—come to an agreement," Dumbledore said. "And there we have another thing she's trying to ignore: The fact that she ever threw a loving glance at you—because you know everything better than anyone else by now. She's torn, Severus, and too afraid to admit this to anyone, not even me. She doesn't know how to cope with the fact that she still feels something for you when you feel so guilty because all of this. She senses it and then the emotional part of her reads much more into it than the analytical part."

"How would you know that she still does?"

"Has she told you to never get near her again? Has she told you that she hates you?"

Severus shook his head.

"There's your proof. She's insecure. She wants you to throw her away because she can't bring herself to do it."

"I don't want to. Why would she want me to?"

"It's the easiest way. She thinks she's a monster. She thinks that's the best of all reasons to throw her away. She thinks she deserves it."

"This is nonsense."

"You know that. I know that. She doesn't. She's in shock, she only sees the facts and not what lies behind them, that there's more to all of this than just the surface—and that when her mind usually penetrates everything until she reaches the core of it, so to speak."

"Then tell her that. Does she listen to your advice?" 

"Sometimes grudgingly, but yes, in general, she does."

"Then talk to her again."

"I cannot tell her anything more than I already told her, Severus. She doesn't have to be told twice by the same person," Dumbledore said slowly. "Perhaps you should try and talk to her again. Tell her what you told me."

"She won't listen. She already refused to, once. She wouldn't hear my apologies," Severus replied. "She wouldn't even let me start properly—and unfortunately she had a very good excuse not to: being late for classes." He rolled his eyes.

"Then corner her when that excuse doesn't work," Dumbledore said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world—which, in a way, it was.

"I was lucky to catch her this time. I tried to talk to her for days. Has she spoken to anyone at all? She must have come across McGonagall or Sprout or Flitwick—."

"She only held her lessons. No personal word to anyone. No exceptions."

"She's avoiding everyone then? Why?"

"As soon as she approaches someone who knows all about it, she can't ignore it any longer. That's why she's hiding."

"She can't keep this up forever."

"Yes, Severus," Dumbledore sighed. "She can't. Not forever."

"How long do you think she'll keep this up then?"

"I don't know. In her case, I'm almost tempted to say 'till kingdom come.' But as you said already, she can't keep it up forever. Sooner or later it's going to destroy her. The house-elves reported upon my request to do so that she has neither slept nor eaten for days. So I sent one of them to her. She threw him out."

A horrible realisation struck Severus. "She wants to die," he said hollowly.

"She never wanted to live like this, Severus," Dumbledore said softly. "That this had to happen when there had finally appeared a faint glimmer of hope…" He sighed again. "She wasn't ready for this. I knew this, and that's why I didn't tell her about Voldemort being her father. But now I'm fairly sure she could have taken this one revelation with a bit of comfort—but not when a second one was fired at her after the first. And Voldemort wasn't very helpful either if I may put it that way…"

"Too much to take, I know. I was there."

"She needs you, Severus, she needs you now, although she doesn't want to admit this; she might not even be aware of it… If anyone can get through to her, bring her back out of her self-chosen reclusion, her inner tomb, it is you."

"I don't think I'm up to it. When she looks at me… It makes me wonder if…" Severus shook his head. "She accuses me and when she looks at me I don't seem to be able to defend myself—as though I could ever justify my deeds…"

"The two of you are so very much alike sometimes. Every time you talk to me the conversation turns towards the past. Sometimes you even use the same expressions. But it's always the past, always evil memories."

"That might be because there doesn't seem to be a future. For neither one of us."

"A future is something that must be fought for. She's obviously not in a state to do so at the moment. It's up to you to fight for her and yourself. Then, if you think there's no future for either one you… Perhaps there is one for the two of you together."

"Doesn't seem very likely to me. If you had seen—."

"You must talk to her, Severus. She is too important to lose—."

"You already said that."

"Does she still mean something to you?"

"Do you really need an answer to that question?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "Then bring her back. You're the only person in the world except myself who loves her more than as a friend. I failed. There are no words left unspoken or things left undone between her and me. The questions were asked; the answers were given. I'm not you."

"Want to trade?"

"Frankly… If I were a hundred or so years younger and a girl—woman, I mean—like her looked at me the way she looked at you…"

"You're right to use the past tense."

"You could be one of the few people, perhaps the one person still alive, who can make her catch a glimpse of what it's like to feel alive. You had already started when—."

"She'll run away from me or throw me out or—."

"Then be as insistent as you're now. If necessary insult her, annoy her, get her to lose it. You're good at that. She'll damage a few things that can be repaired; the important thing is that it might break the chains around her mind, too."

"I'm not sure if I'm up to it…" Severus sighed once more, remembering their encounter in the DADA corridor. "But I'll try. It can't get worse anyway. I'll try to catch her as soon as lessons are over for the day. However, it could take a while until I'm successful. She simply knows too many secret passages in here. An advantage of the summer holidays you let her spend here…"

Snape got up to leave without even touching the food. He couldn't have forced a single bite down. He felt it wouldn't stay there for very long a time even if he succeeded. His stomach seemed to clench itself together out of its own accord, completely refusing to work properly.

"Take your time, Severus, but don't take too long…"

**~*~*~**

Harry saw Dumbledore heave a sigh as he occupied himself with the contents of his plate again. It was as though he mimicked Snape's and Harry's actions now. Snape must have told him something that was not in particular cheerful—to speak mildly.

"Whatever happened—I'm not sure if I want to know or rather revel in blessed ignorance," Harry muttered. "I actually know more about all of this than I would have liked to, had anybody asked me before."

"You sound as if you'd had one of those Muggle poetry thingies for dinner last night," Ron said.

"Ginny likes Shakespeare. A lot of deceit, granted, but very much romance and fighting, too. The style just had to rub off one day." 

"And a good thing too," Ginny said. "If he talked about Quidditch with you all day long, the only words he'd be capable of uttering would soon be Quidditch, Bludger, Quaffle and Snitch—."

"Hey!"

"—not that Hermione didn't try her best to get you to read some books, right 'Mione? Ron?"

"And behold my success," Hermione said with a wry grin.

Ron glared at her. "Girlfriends," he muttered.

"Sisters," Harry provided.

"Women," Ron said. "Can't live with 'em—."

"—can't live without them… Not that I'd ever want that. Right, Gin?"

"Isn't he just the cutest, Herm? And to think you chose my brother when Harry's such a good kisser, too…" Ginny moved to plant a kiss on Harry's cheek, but Harry used the opportunity to capture her lips with his instead…

_Mmm. So soft. My Ginny…_

She made those cruel and pitiless images flee his mind, for the sole reason that she was there and that she was the complete opposite.

"Stop snogging my sister in front of everybody!"

"Must you spoil the mood?" Harry groaned in mock-indignation.

"How would you like me saying that next time you and Hermione get going?" Ginny mumbled against Harry's lips.

"If you don't want us to snog 'in front of everybody' we could very well move this to another location… How about a certain broom cupboard?" Harry added, drawing back a little and raising an eyebrow.

"Alright, that's enough, you two. Control your hormones," Hermione spoke up, looking mildly scandalized.

"You're one to talk…" Ginny muttered, but Hermione hadn't finished talking yet. 

"Back to the subject at hand. It's obvious what this is all about. Snape is worried about Professor Ravon, that's all," she continued.

"Why would he be?" Ron said.

"Yes, why? Apart from the obvious that is," Harry added. 

"Oh, honestly, don't you two have eyes in your heads? There has been something going on between the two of them—," Hermione said it as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"You've given me a horrible mental image, Hermione…" Ron whined.

"Stop it already. It must have started around Valentine's Day. You remember, they were dancing—."

"How is it you know the exact date?" Ginny frowned thoughtfully at Hermione who was very busy drawing patterns in the marmalade on her piece of toast, that lay on her plate yet untouched, with a spoon.

"And why haven't you told us before?"

"I… with all this prophecy stuff and that Patronus thing happening… I might have… forgotten about it," she began, apologetic. "Well, you see, it was that I…" she trailed off, blushing.

"Yes?" Ginny asked eagerly.

"Well, I was walking down the staircase from the Arithmancy classroom and along the second floor corridor to meet the two of you for Hagrid's lesson—you know, the day when we were late because I had to ask Professor Vector some questions… Anyway, I was running along the corridor and… It wasn't deliberate, I swear! I kind of caught them—." 

"Don't say it! I'll never be able to rid my mind off this all too lively image…" Ron groaned, burying his face in his hands.

"You, Ron Weasley, have a dirty mind—not that I would mind were the circumstances any different at the moment…"

"Yes, yes, alright. Stop this," Harry interrupted. "You caught them…"

"What? Right. I caught them in—let's put it this way—a somewhat tender moment."

"How tender exactly?" Ginny asked with a raised eyebrow and a wicked grin, her voice already implying the answer she expected.

"Ginny!" Ron exclaimed. Ginny rolled her eyes at him and groaned exaggeratedly. Harry sniggered at the two of them. It was always the same with those two. 

_One word: Siblings…_

"They must have been—," Hermione coughed and Ron paled slightly, "—_kissing_ the moment before I caught sight of them. He was—oh gods, I can't say it, you guys only make fun of it—actually stroking her cheek… And when they noticed I was there, they pretended they had collided with each other and he was only checking if she was hurt… Of course, I didn't buy that. It was so obvious." 

Ginny sighed. "How romantic…"

Ron made a noise of disgust.

"Alright, Ron, what's the disgusting part of this in your opinion? The thought of greasy Snape—who hasn't been that greasy lately, now that I think of it—actually having something akin to a love life and Ravon being part of it or the thought of creepy Ravon having a love life and Snape being part of it?" Hermione asked.

"I haven't been thinking of her as 'creepy' for quite a few days now, and I have done some quite serious thinking." Ron said in defence of himself. "A Dementor, or half-Dementor or whatever." He shuddered for emphasis. "But then I came to the conclusion that I should rather feel sorry for her, you see. She's… strange… but now that I know why and all… it's kind of cruel to think of her as 'creepy', don't you think? Must be hard for her… not knowing all those things and then all of a sudden having everything come crashing down on her…" he trailed off. "You-Know-Who really hit home this time."

After a few seconds of silence, he spoke again, making a face. "But she and Snape? No way! Not after all this Christmas mess…"

"I'll take that bet."

"Hermione, you never take bets on anything." Ron was surprised.

"Sometimes I do. But only when I'm sure I am going to win. You take it?"

"Er… how much?"

"Ron, if I were you I wouldn't bet money I don't have. Remember what happened to Ludo Bagman?"

"Ginny, please! Hermione's no goblin." He threw a sideways glance at her. "You aren't, are you?"

"I would think there are a few slight differences between me and a goblin."

"For example?"

"They are smaller—and, unlike me, they won't get any money from you in the near future, which I, however, most certainly will." Hermione grinned. "So, how much do you want to bet that there's _something _between Snape and Ravon?"

"Er… Let me think… Hmm. I could use a Galleon or so."

"You should rather think about if you can afford to _lose_ one, Ron. Betting against Hermione is dangerous…" Ginny said. "And even more so since Snape _did_ save Ravon and he's in serious distress because of the state she's in. Honestly, are all of you boys so blind or is it just you?"

"How would you know?—Wait a second. Did you bet on something against Hermione?"

Ginny blushed slightly. "It was a long time ago," she stuttered.

"How long ago exactly? And what was it about?" Ron asked suspiciously.

She chewed on her lip. "Beginning of my fourth year," she mumbled.

"And?" Harry asked, suddenly very interested, as Hermione had buried her face in her hands and shook with silent laughter.

"It…" she began.

"Yes?"

"Itwasaboutwhetheryouwouldevernoticemeandifyouwouldthenwhenyouwould," Ginny muttered swiftly.

"I beg your pardon?" Ron said.

"It. Was. About. Whether. You. (That is Harry.) Would. Ever. Notice. Me. And. If. You. (Harry) Would. Then. When. You. Would," she repeated very slowly. "I hate it when people need it spelt out for them." She glared at Ron.

Hermione giggled quite audibly now while Ron almost doubled over in laughter at the look his sister gave him. "You… didn't…" he gasped.

Harry grinned at Ginny. "I take it you lost the bet."

She nodded, looking at him a bit sheepishly. "The only bet I _ever_ lost—and I'm glad I did."

"I'm glad I made you lose it, then," he answered, smiling. Ginny smiled back.

"I lost it by miles, you know. Hermione was settling for some time even before 1996, while I settled for… well… roundabout never. I thought I'd win the bet. A timeframe of four months against never…"

"Never is a very long time."

"I noticed that."

"How much did you lose?"

"Nothing compared to what I gained."

"Seriously."

"Twelve sickles. I was a bit short on money," she added apologetically.

"And Ron's going to lose a bit more than you," Hermione said, now that she had regained her composure. "So?" She held out her hand for him to take. "One Galleon?"

"One Galleon," Ron repeated, as he took her hand and shook it. 

"Deal."

"Alright! What about you, Harry?"

"Don't get me wrong now," Harry began, the smile disappearing from his face, "but I don't want to bet on something like that under the current circumstances. Usually I'd find this very funny and would be the first to join in but… well… I don't feel like it. Unlike the three of you, who only know all this stuff from hearsay, I've seen too much to find anything about Professor Ravon funny anymore…"

Ron's and Hermione's smiles faded quickly, too, as Harry uttered those words. They exchanged guilty glances and became very interested in their lunch.

Ginny squeezed his hand comfortingly. "Harry…"

"Sorry," Harry said, "I…"

"No. You're right. It could be funnier—otherwise…" Hermione added.

The overall mood had changed considerably; none of them was smiling anymore. As strange as this might seem—they were actually worried about a _teacher_…

Harry felt obliged to lighten the mood again. "You know, it's not just that, it's also that, Ron, with regard for you I decided not to take that bet. I wouldn't want to contribute to your being broke." 

"So you, too, believe this nonsense?" Ron asked incredulously.

"I might. They'd make a nice couple," Harry said in a very naïve and innocent sounding voice, and raised his eyebrows suggestively, grinning wryly. It achieved what he had wanted to. Ron shuddered, whereas Hermione snorted into her pumpkin juice. If that was because of Harry's remark or Ron's reaction to it, Harry did not know. However, he suspected the latter.

And even Ginny sniggered softly to herself, apparently unable to talk.

**~*~*~**

A few days later, when Harry, Hermione and the two Weasleys came down into the Entrance Hall they saw a crowd of people in front of the blackboard. Curiously inching closer, they soon figured out that very many students signed up to return home for the holidays. Sure, there had been occasions when students returned home even for the Easter holidays—but that many?

The list for the Slytherins was already full. So Malfoy and his gang of Slytherin Death Eaters wouldn't be at Hogwarts. Fine. No Slytherins at all. Good. No trouble. No sneers. No insults. Life could be good. But if they weren't here, then what were they up to? Something fishy must be going on… Yet Harry had had no dreams as to what Voldemort was intending. Apparently, it was nothing. Strange…

The other lists, too, were almost full. Only a few empty lines were left. Exodus. Everyone apparently wanted to be with their parents. Was the situation worsening? Or was all of this because of Professor Ravon? Were the parents scared that she would—? But she would never hurt anyone at Hogwarts. She was not on the Dark Lord's side. If that was the reason for everyone to return home she'd end up like Professor Lupin, packing her trunks and making her getaway by the end of the year, perhaps sooner. Harry could imagine very well that she'd be quite lonely then, when not even Dumbledore was there, the one person she seemed to trust and who trusted her. She'd be outlawed as the Heiress of Slytherin, daughter of the Dark Lord, a Dark creature…

Harry could very well sympathize with her. He, too, had been shunned by most people when everyone had thought that he was the Heir of Slytherin. But he had had Ron and Hermione…

Professor Ravon had no one but Dumbledore and perhaps some of the staff… Hagrid had been quite sad lately. Harry and his friends had been down at his hut for tea the other day and had left much sooner than usual because Hagrid hadn't been remotely as cheerful as he usually was—and Hagrid could take a lot until he got depressed. And Snape… well… he was a completely different matter. He simply wasn't Snape anymore, not the sneering, obnoxious, greasy, Slytherins-favouring git-Snape. No, he had recently kind of been the 'Too worried to be nasty'-Snape.

Perhaps Hermione was right.

Harry felt a distinct twinge of pity as he thought about how Ravon must be feeling now. The image of her lying on the ground, whimpering and bleeding, was burnt into his memory like the Dark Mark on the arm of a Death Eater.

He forced those unpleasant thoughts from his mind. There was nothing to be done about the current situation. He was the last person in the world who could do anything. Not even asking Sirius for advice was an option. Harry didn't feel like writing it all down. There was nothing that could be done.

Harry turned his attention to the conversation his three friends had started when they had seen the return home lists.

"If we wait a few more minutes we could exactly determine the moment when we'll know that we'll have Hogwarts completely to ourselves," Ginny muttered.

"Well, at least there are no Slytherins. Makes for a good holiday," Ron said.

"Why aren't you returning home?" Hermione asked.

"Never thought of it. We never go home for the Easter holidays—and we can't leave Harry alone now, can we?"

Harry smiled slightly. It was good to have real friends.

"Thanks, guys. Would really be a bit lonely here. I'd be thinking too much about—."

"Don't. Not good. Not a nice topic for conversation," Ginny quickly interrupted him, lacing her fingers with his. "Let's have some breakfast," she said and pulled him after her. Harry didn't protest; he was quite hungry today. Finally, his stomach had decided to serve its purpose again.

"It would have been easier by far to set up lists for those who want to stay," Dean Thomas said, when they reached the Gryffindor table. "If you ask me it's clear that everyone wants their children at home where they are safe."

"My grandmother wants me at home because she's been a bit ill for quite some time now. The mediwizards say that it might be something serious…" Neville trailed off sadly. "I wouldn't mind staying here otherwise. Ravon has always been quite nice to me and all."

"And I'm going home because staying here when you're not is… not nice," Parvati threw in. "Holidays without my boyfriend, not exactly what was on my mind. So if I can't have you with me I'd rather go home and see my family than stay here and study all the time because there's nothing better to do. I could come to your place and meet your granny, too."

"And besides, the atmosphere in here hasn't been particularly cheerful during the last few days either. Would surely make for a lovely fortnight," Seamus said. "Right, Lavender?"

"I don't know." She sighed. "The thing is, with You-Know-Who out there we can hardly be sure that we'll see our parents again. So I think I'll sign up for going home, too. Just to not have to regret anything should You-Know-Who—."

"Don't say something like that. Your parents are not going to die. None of our parents are going to die, you get that?" Ginny screeched. "They'll all be perfectly well and… and… Right, Harry? Ron? They'll be fine, won't they?"

"Ginny, of course they'll be alright," Ron said, brotherly putting an arm around his sister. He rarely displayed how attached he actually was to his brothers and sister, but now he did.

"Yeah, no Dark wizard will ever get his hands on a Weasley," Harry said reassuringly, feeling quite awkward as he stood there, his hands in his pockets while Ginny was comforted by her brother instead of Harry. He had to admit that he felt a bit jealous; Harry had never had a real family like Ron and Ginny had, a family that was there for him, listening to him when he needed to talk to someone, soothing him when he needed comfort… Well, actually, he had had a family, but he couldn't remember. After all, he had been only a baby when Voldemort had killed his parents.

But he was almost a part of this family now and feared for the Weasleys as much as Ginny and Ron themselves did. They had become Harry's closest equivalent to a father and mother and a lot of red-haired, freckly brothers that he had ever had. And his very lovely girlfriend was part of this family, too. 

'Another family. Which next?' _Not this one, Tom Riddle, not this one. Not a chance._

"They'll be fine, Ginny," Harry muttered, patting her back, "Just wait and you'll see that there hasn't been anything to worry about, they'll be fine."

Ginny sniffed and nodded.

"Let's have something to eat, shall we?" Hermione suggested, trying to lighten the mood. "So… has anyone of you recently touched a book to prepare for their N.E.W.Ts?"

"Not exactly…" Ron muttered.

"Honestly, if laziness hurt you'd be screaming in agony."

**Next chapter:**

Severus does a lot of thinking, a lot of pacing and a lot of talking before he gets… _something_.


	24. Seal Upon Thine Heart

**Author's note:** Thank you very much for your kind reviews.

**Butterfly**: I can always count on you  
**Miriam**: There it is, the chapter you more or less requested in that message… A day early… And I was right when I said that the last chapter was the second longest. This one ranges around my average chapter length…  
**Madalina/Madi**: Not many reviews are longer than yours… Thank you.

A little warning: A bit heartbreaking… A bit steamy… But I liked writing it very much *smiles*

And I've also updated my other story and started posting a third one… Oh god…

Chapter 23: Seal Upon Thine Heart

**_Set me as a seal upon thine heart,  
As a seal upon thine arm,  
For love is strong as death_**

_—HIM: Dark Secret Love_

Severus Snape paced in his office. Once again Sariss had not attended dinner, once again it had felt as though her empty seat mocked him, accused him. It could not go on like this.

Wherever he walked in the castle, whatever students' paths he crossed, everywhere could be heard hushed conversations about her. The rumours spread wildly. From the students' discussions Severus got the impression that Sariss was now even farther from "All right," as she'd claimed to be when she had been when Severus had tried to talk to her six days ago. And it wasn't as though he hadn't caught glimpses of her. It was just that she quickly slipped around the corner or turned and took another way when she noticed his presence. She was definitely not well. After all, Severus was neither deaf nor blind. He could clearly see that she appeared less alive than the ghosts haunting the castle.

And as worried as he was, he was also mad at her for still avoiding him so obviously. It could not go on like this, he thought once again. This had gone on long enough. Severus had had enough of all of this.

_Scream at me, Sariss. Accuse me openly of everything you can think of I ever did wrong. Tell me you hate me. Tell me you love me. Tell me you forgive me. Tell me to never get near you again, but tell me something—anything._

He sighed. 

_I only wish I didn't feel for you anymore… Things would have been considerably easier if I had never fallen so badly for you…_

But he had fallen for her. Despite everything that should have kept them apart. Both so stubborn, both unforgiving, both seeming so obviously detached on the outside, both of them being haunted by the demons of their pasts.

He sat down heavily in his chair and exhaled slowly, steepling his fingers beneath his nose.

After all he had learnt about her, he should have turned his back on her as she had apparently turned his back on him already. He should despise her as she obviously despised him. He should feel disgusted at who and what she was, disgusted that he'd ever touched her, that she had ever touched him, shouldn't he? Yet he wasn't. Not at all. None of the emotions and thoughts one would expect from him crossed his mind. As strange as it was, he felt not disgusted at her but only at _himself_ for being the one who—in a way—triggered all those events, for not thinking about the consequences when all he would have had to do would have been to say a simple 'no' to Lucius Malfoy when he had tried and succeeded in recruiting the young—and still innocent—Severus Snape. Such a simple word to say it was. 

_"Join us—."_

_"No!"_

Severus knew how easy it was to say. He used it fairly often when he awoke from his nightmares. How many things could have been changed for the better if he had wasted a single, bloody thought to the consequences of his actions?

_"Join us or die."_

The consequences he would have to live with? The consequences that might just turn out to be ones that affected himself, too? He had _not_ wasted a thought to all of this. He'd merely wanted to live…

_"My Lord."_

He couldn't even remember what he had been thinking back then, if he had been thinking at all. He hadn't cared about anything. Not the wizarding world. Not—.

Only later had he come to his senses and realized that he didn't want to be what he'd become. When he had already lost for good what had been important to him. He'd realized that he should have preferred death to life among the Dark Lord's followers, death instead of the offer of life and power beyond all things imaginable… 

The only thing Severus had had left was his life. The only one who had power was the Dark Lord himself. And he did not share. He'd only made promises, promises of power and wealth and influence…

Severus had only felt a glimpse of this power when he'd cast the Killing Curse. But afterwards he'd felt empty, emptier and emptier every time he'd cast it—until Severus felt as if he'd never even smile anymore…

And after that, he had thrown away his dignity and begged Dumbledore to welcome him to Hogwarts despite everything he'd been and done. And Dumbledore—bless him—had done it. The man had saved Severus's soul by doing so. Did he have any idea about what it had actually meant to Severus? Supposedly he did.

And then it happened that Severus couldn't even prevent what had been one of the most important things, _beings_, in his life from dying. He had not only _lost_ her to someone else. She had died. And he couldn't save her…

Not this time. This time he wouldn't give up. This time he wouldn't fail. Severus was quite sure that he wouldn't lose Sariss to someone else, especially not now—but that was no comfort. On the contrary. Severus had an impression of what she must be feeling like, unwanted, unloved, unneeded—at least not really needed—only tolerated instead of being accepted… It was a mere impression of it. It must feel much worse to her.

No, what was looming over Severus was not James Potter or Lord Voldemort—it was the bogy called Despair that was already reaching for her with its spidery fingers to take her away from him… Severus would lose her to that—another old and familiar enemy of his—and it would snatch her from him and break her. The beginnings were already all too evident… 

And this was a thought even more unbearable than that of history repeating itself…

He simply had to try again and again—if only to know that he had not just stood by and watched, waiting once again for the so-called perfect opportunity that would, this time, most likely, never come…

And either way, he'd pay the price…

He decided to get into action as Dumbledore had advised him to and slowly got up, fighting the urge to merely sit there and wallow in regrets and self-pity.

Severus walked towards the fireplace and took some glittery powder out of a jar that was sitting on the mantelpiece. He threw it into the flames, which turned green as soon as the Floo powder made contact. Now, where would she be? Her office? Her chambers?

He shook his head. Not her office. Avoiding people wasn't that easy when you were in a place that was very much open to everyone who wanted a word. Hiding successfully was a task that was much more easily accomplished by locking yourself up in your private chambers…

It would be an intrusion. She'd have nowhere to run if he invaded her sanctuary… Good. She'd have to throw him out. And to do that properly, she wouldn't use her magic for it; she wouldn't even think about using it if she was in the state that Dumbledore and Severus himself suspected. If she wanted to throw him out, she would have to get physical, she'd have to touch him—and if she didn't want to be touched, there was no way to get rid of Severus before he was done with his explanations. He wouldn't give up until she had—figuratively, but nonetheless—stepped onto his heart and crushed it.

**Yes, that's the spirit. Be insistent. Make it end. And if you're lucky, the end could be a new beginning.**

_Why so optimistic all of a sudden? Usually you're the one to criticize everything I'm up to._

**You wouldn't listen anyway. You seem to turn mysteriously deaf when I give you advice you don't want to hear—especially when it concerns her.**

_So, for once in our life, you're trying to be really helpful?_

**You say that as though I were a nuisance?**

_Sometimes you are._

**Just like her, huh?**

_So, you too, like her?_

**No. I don't like her. **

_What?!_

**I _adore_ her. I can't believe you'd let her walk out on you! I'd tell her she's my life, my everything. You can't even tell her that. I would write it in the sky—although she _is_ annoying.**

_I'm supposed to be the emotional part._

**You're definitely not the romantic part. That's turned out to be my area of expertise.**

_I might not need you any longer after this day has ended._

**Then you had better not mess everything up. You were so unbearable until she came.**

_I didn't notice._

**You did. And you were unbearable on purpose. It wasn't just an act—and now go get the girl. I shudder to think what's certainly going to happen if you don't.**

Taking a deep breath and clearing his throat, he stepped into the fire and said, "Professor Ravon's study."

Grates started whirling past him and after a few seconds he stepped out of the fireplace—into Sariss Ravon's study.

Sariss was sitting behind her desk, reading a book, which she slammed shut at Severus's intrusion. "Get out!" she said coldly, jumping to her feet, enraged (_finally an appropriate reaction_…), her hair fanning out around her as she walked towards him, clearly intending to throw him out.

"We need to talk," he said very calmly.

"I don't see why," she hissed, coming to a sudden halt when he started walking towards her, her face once again the inanimate mask that he so dreaded.

"Don't you understand? I only want to help you… I'm—."

"I don't need your pity!" she said, her voice a harsh whisper.

"The last thing I have to offer is pity," he said quietly, in a voice he hoped she perhaps found soothing. "Nothing has changed. You are the same person you were when you walked through the doorway into the Great Hall on September the first; the same person who started to see more in me than just the despicable, greasy-haired, foul-tempered bastard that I am. Please, Sariss, talk to me. Don't shut yourself out from the world."

"I've heard that one before," she stated coldly.

He fought the urge to grab her, shake her, slap her—hard. If she would just show a reaction, an appropriate reaction of any kind. She should be raving, furious, crying in misery, scream… Emotional women had never been his special area of expertise; but now he would have given anything to get her to be an emotional woman—if only to see some feelings flicker about her face, that inanimate mask she'd worn for days… She had been too calm—in comparison to how she usually reacted—when he'd tried to speak to her the last time. She should have been screaming, slamming her fists into the walls, into his face… Instead it was as though a part of her—the temper he had come to love so much—had been severed from her personality, put into an emotional coffin and buried so very deep, as if she hoped it would never be found again…

Well, he wouldn't be Severus Snape if he made it that easy for her to shut him out. She had finally let him into her life and he was not the man to be thrown out of it again as easily as that. If she'd do this for a good reason, if she didn't want him anymore because of a _good_ reason and tell him that this was indeed the reason why, fine! He wanted to hear her say it. He wanted to hear her say, 'Go to hell!'—or 'Stay.' If she told him to go to hell, he'd go. That he could take. Or not. 

But of one thing he was sure, he wouldn't just give up on her, not because of this! Not because of the Dark Lord's failed plans! He'd wanted a ruthless killer, he'd created a sweet and easily hurt flower instead, indeed an _angel_—deadly, maybe, yes, but not of its own accord.

"Sariss, speak to me! Do you want me to beg you to look at me and utter more than five words in a row?"

She didn't answer; she pressed her lips tightly together, avoided his searching eyes and swallowed.

"Sariss, please. Please, forgive me. I never wanted this to happen. I didn't know what to do until it was almost too late…" he whispered, slowly approaching her to… yes what? Take her hands? Pull her into his arms? He wanted to hold her, soothe her—but how could he do this when she didn't give him a chance to do so?

She slapped his hands away from her and took a step back. "Don't touch me."

"Why not?" Yes, why not? Well, he wasn't so sure if she experienced the same he did when their skins touched, but could it be that she feared she wouldn't be able to push him back as soon as the tingle raced through her system? "What are you so scared of that you won't accept anything of what I have to offer?"

"You don't understand anything."

"Then tell me!" He begged her with his voice as well as with his eyes. If she'd only look at him to see it… He could only hope that his desperation could be sensed clearly enough for her to reach her…

She was silent for several long moments. Then she swallowed, hard, and started to speak: "I'm… not even human," she began hesitantly, her voice slightly unsteady. She sounded so small, so sad, so helpless. "I'm unnatural… a monster, a beast. I shouldn't have survived any of this! You should have killed me back then. You should… I should _hate_ you, I really should… Gods, forgive me, but I still… There should never have happened anything between us. Everything would have been so much easier… I don't know who I am anymore." She took a deep breath and went on, "I could have killed you a dozen of times, do you know that? Every time a group of Aurors was sent… You could have been there—and I could have killed you… Just as I killed Malfoy… not necessarily as clean as with Avada Kedavra, but much more painfully if I had realized who you were and how you had presumably betrayed everyone and everything I fought for…"

She was rambling on and on. Now that she'd started speaking, telling him everything that had been on her mind for the last few weeks, it seemed she was unable to stop. Her train of thought was a bit confusing when one didn't know what she'd gone through, what she'd learnt, what had happened—but Severus knew all this and that's why those fragments made sense to him. Perfect sense.

She was ashamed, and scared of herself, scared of what she was capable of; fearing that she was exactly what Voldemort had wanted her to be—a ruthless killer.

Suddenly it came to him: This was not about him being involved in the potion making at all! _If I hadn't done it, someone else would surely have…_ he had said and despite her answer she, as was now apparent, had pondered his words and found them true. _Not everything is about you, Severus Snape…_ he thought, inwardly shaking his head at the fact that he had overvalued the importance of his actions towards her to such a great extent.

This was not about him, only about what had happened when the Dark Lord had captured her. What he had told her. Not about what Dumbledore or Severus had told her… That he had captured her at all!

_She's blaming herself for what happened! She's blaming herself for _letting_ herself get caught!_ Typical. People tended to blame themselves for things that were not in their power to change. Victims started blaming themselves for what happened to them even if there hadn't been any way to prevent it from happening, even though it had not been in their powers to do _anything_ against it. She hated to feel powerless, weak. She'd always had to be strong—or at least she'd told herself that she must… _Always be prepared_… She hated this helplessness, this inability to do _anything_ about it. And there could not be done anything about the truth. The truth hurt, Severus knew this from bitter experience himself.

She was breathing very hard now as though she had run all the way up to the Astronomy Tower and back to her rooms without even stopping once to catch her breath. "I wish you had killed me. I don't want to live like that. It has always been hard for me to live this life, but now that I know why it's been so hard, I don't want to fight anymore. Make it end. All of it. I can't take it anymore…" Her voice had dropped to a rough whisper as she'd said the last few words. "You should have killed me," she breathed, almost too softly for him to hear. Almost.

"Sariss… Sariss!" He grabbed her firmly by the shoulders and pushed her against the desk that was behind her now, preventing her from stepping back. She flinched but still didn't meet his gaze. 

_So we're back at where we were a long time ago… _

Her whole body was tense; she stood stock-still as though she were a statue of the finest white marble… He was trying to get her to look into his face, trying to make her tilt up her face so she couldn't avoid it any longer. She flinched at his touch again and screwed her eyes shut.

_Now, this is getting ridiculous…_

"Don't ever say things like that again!" Severus shouted at her. She flinched again and pressed her lips into a thin line. At that, he released his grasp a bit and continued much more quietly and slowly, "You are Sariss Ravon. Nobody can take that away from you, not even Voldemort. Please, let me help you, Sariss…"

"I don't want your help," she forced out, her voice a hoarse whisper. "I don't need it. I need no one—." 

He dropped his hands knowing that he needed to approach her differently… "Oh, Sariss," he sighed. 

She slipped away from him towards the window, yet she didn't look out but kept her eyes firmly on her hands that were clutching the windowsill so tightly that her knuckles turned white. He took a few steps sideways so he could see her profile, obscured by a few rebellious strands of her beautiful, soft hair—illuminated by the firelight. He could see the tenseness of the muscles in her face, too, the way she clenched her teeth together… Despite everything, he had to admire her composure.

What should he tell her? How was he to get through to her?

"Nothing of what you just said really matters. It isn't important who you are, what you are. It only matters that you _are _at all, that you're _here_, making a difference—no one judges you for things beyond your control."

No reaction at all. He might as well speak to the stone gargoyle guarding the entrance to Dumbledore's office. 

_Dumbledore…_

"Dumbledore saw all this a long time ago. He knew why he mustn't tell you who you are when he discovered you and took you to Hogwarts so you would be taught properly how to control the immense power in you. Then, it didn't matter to him, that you were the Dark Lord's daughter—even at his height of power—and he wanted to protect you from the Dark side. And now it doesn't matter to him _what_ you are either…" Severus trailed off, then began anew. "All Dumbledore wanted was for you to be protected, not to be exposed to the dangers that threaten your sanity, your soul, when you descend into Darkness. Had he not done so, you might have been taken by the Dark Lord and shaped after his image. Had Dumbledore not made sure that you could spend all of your childhood in the safety and protection of Hogwarts and instead sent you to an orphanage after the Dark Lord's fall, you might have become like him. Many people think that a great deal of the hatred Voldemort feels towards Muggles and their magical offspring, has its foundations in the way he was treated by them, his Muggle father in particular. He has always been driven by the thirst for revenge, even if he isn't aware of it. So have I. And so have you. This is the character trait all of us have in common—for different reasons, mind you, but we do." He paused for effect. 

Then he continued, "Yet unlike what Voldemort had intended, you were led to a life of creation and preservation, not death and destruction. In creating what he wanted to be his greatest asset for destruction and death, he's instead created his greatest liability; once he couldn't reach you anymore he couldn't start to exert control over you. When nobody else had believed that you were in danger, Dumbledore realized that it had been a matter of life and death—for you as well as for the wizarding world as we know it. He taught you. He protected you. He loved you—and still does—as if you were _his_ daughter, not Tom Riddle's. Only for one reason he kept this from you: It would have destroyed your childhood if you'd learnt it then…"

He took a deep breath and sighed. "Look at you. Even now—when you're much stronger—it almost breaks you… It would have killed you had you been told all those years ago. Don't let it destroy you now. Don't let it turn you cold and cruel towards yourself." If he reached out now he could touch her. And how he wanted to. But he knew she wouldn't allow it. "Don't be ashamed. Don't hide from me," he whispered. "Please, don't do this to me."

No reaction. The image of his dream dreaded to overwhelm him. He shook it off, defiantly.

"Why does shame and self-loathing become cruelty?" he muttered, quoting her. "How is that so often the case?"

He said no more. He was reticent now. So was she.

He turned to leave—having said all he'd wanted to say—and more—had mentally exhausted him. He couldn't say anything in addition to what he'd just said. He couldn't tell her again that he was sorry about all of this. She wouldn't listen. And he couldn't tell her how much he loved her either, in the state she was in. It would not have been fair, neither towards her nor to himself. As if he could get the words out.

Throwing one last glance over his shoulder, he headed for the door. He felt defeated as though he'd just lost one of the most important battles in his life—when suddenly a barely audible whisper disturbed the silence that had seemed so loud after he'd stopped talking, just as the thought had crossed his mind that maybe he shouldn't have come…

"Why?" He froze in his tracks when he heard her voice, very softly. He had to try hard to catch every whispered word of hers. "Why did you save me?" she mouthed. "Why didn't you… kill me? In all honesty…"

He paused, thinking about what to tell her. 'Because I love you,' would have been a cliché, too easy to say in a situation like this, too meaningless. Severus Snape was no man who used clichés simply because they were the truth, at least partly, since he hadn't saved her because he loved her. He had saved her because he loved her _and_ he had been provided with the perfect opportunity to save her. And if he'd judged her correctly, she wouldn't have reacted to it at all or she would have asked, 'How can you love anyone remotely like me?' That would have been typical for her. He knew her well enough to make predictions like that. He didn't have to be a seer to know it. No, he had to be much more convincing, say so much less than that, yet implying so much more. 

He looked at her, the way she stood there, her head bent, yet upright. Like the heroine of a Greek tragedy, awaiting—no, _longing for_—the death blow, which he wouldn't give her…

"Because the alternative was—and still is, I might add," he said softly and stepped close to her, so close he could already smell the sweet fragrance of her hair, "—unthinkable."

Something akin to a sigh could be heard, a quickly muffled sob perhaps? Her shoulders slumped, tremors starting to rock her body. She started shaking. And as several glasses on the shelves including the window she was standing in front of shattered, a choking sob escaped her lips.

Severus muttered a quick "Reparo!" to restore the window so as not to let the chilly and wet night air invade her rooms. After all, it was the last day of March and there was still snow in the air, although it had just started raining… No, it was rather hailing; thunder rolled in the distance… There would be a thunderstorm. Unusual but not unheard of at this time of the year.

He cautiously touched her shoulder, her hair. She slumped even more, shuddering more and more violently.

As soon as he'd turned her around to take a look at her face—she put up no resistance—to check if she'd been hurt by the exploding window (she hadn't, fortunately; Severus couldn't bear the mere thought of blood on her face…), his heart melted at the sight of her tearstained cheeks, her trembling lips, the silent sobs he could tell she still tried to suppress. He could tell she was fighting.

"Sariss," he whispered, kissing her forehead, her hair. Suddenly he was very much aware that when he said her name it sounded as though he said, 'My love.' She seemed much smaller than she actually was, all of a sudden; more vulnerable than she'd ever seemed before.

A bolt of lightning zigzagged over the dark-grey evening sky, quickly followed by a crash of thunder, as Severus moved to draw her into his arms, gently, wanting to hold her, soothe her, tell her that everything would be alright, whisper sweet little nothings to her, even lie to her if only it made her smile.

However, as he tried to pull her close, she tried to push him away, the tears that had been unshed for far too long a time running freely now. "Don't…" she forced out shakily, clearly not trusting her voice any longer. "You can't…" But he kept his grip on her, willing it to be firm but gentle despite her, in her standards, weak resistance. He could tell it was a half-hearted struggle; she didn't have the mental strength to will her body into a real attempt at pushing anyone away from her anymore—not when she needed everything she had to keep up the pretence that she wasn't in a state as abysmal as she actually was. She couldn't will herself to fight him any longer. Lack of food, lack of sleep, a constant lack of happiness and joy… All of these had taken their toll.

Severus insisted on pulling her into his arms, trying not to get angry at the whole situation—although he wasn't angry with _her_ at all—but at the same time trying to keep his thoughts from heading into the direction of his past and the Dark Lord, of his dreams, and of the fact that she might not be there at all. He wasn't quite as successful as he'd wanted to be. The by now familiar pain in his heart was back, the pain that always came when the thought crossed his mind that he could easily have lost her entirely.

Sariss's weak defence faded away until it was hardly there any longer. Finally, she'd exhausted herself and broke down. Her knees buckled (He caught her). Her body grew limp in his grasp, no resistance anymore as he lowered them both to the floor and gathered her into his arms, enveloping her completely as she clutched at his robes, burying her face in the hollow between his neck and shoulder. Her body shook violently as more and more tears soaked his robes and moistened his skin. He rocked her back and forth, stroking her hair, her back, muttering words of comfort that felt odd to his ears. It wasn't like him to even think about uttering something remotely comforting. Severus Snape didn't do things like that. It was simply not in his character, although it must have been there at some point or other in his life, didn't it? 

Well, whatever the case, it wasn't like the image of himself he had grown accustomed to, to fall in love either, and somehow he had.

Oh, Merlin, she still smelt like strawberry and vanilla. That scent had been haunting him even in his sleep to such an extent that he'd almost thought he'd only imagined it. Indeed, he almost thought he'd imagined every touch, every look, every word she'd spoken before _it_ had happened.

She cried silently as if she tried to regain the all too firm grip she usually had on herself.

Her considerable efforts were quite in vain as her tears were soon accompanied by shuddering sobs wracking her body; he'd had no idea that any human being could cry like that… It hurt to listen to the sounds she made; it hurt to listen to the gasping breaths she took as though she were drowning in her own tears. It hurt to feel her violent shudders when she kept on choking, "I can't go on like this… I can't…" 

He held her tightly, trying to warm her, to drive away the sadness that inhabited her heart and soul, and burying his face in her hair he whispered, "I'm sorry, Sariss, I'm so sorry." He repeated it over and over again, as he kept stroking her hair. "This is all my fault. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have let you go." Tears started running over his cheeks, too, as her sobs came even more violently. He closed his eyes. 

_Drowning in a sea of tears._

The thought sprang to his mind all of a sudden. He had no idea where he had heard or perhaps read this expression… However, now he knew what it meant…

The way she cried now, it reminded him of the way he had seen her cry when Dumbledore had first brought her to Hogwarts, a small, frail, scared, little girl, so scared that she had constantly jumped when someone said her name or asked her something. But then she had been crying silently, suppressing the sobs; Dumbledore had already taught her a bit about control back then; it would have been quite dangerous if he hadn't. She had clung frantically to Dumbledore's hand, trembling with fear, afraid to be left alone somewhere lest _he_ would come to get her. And in her nightmares, he had done so. Severus had constantly been brewing Dreamless Sleep Potion back then—and that for a little girl. At that age, no one ought to have a potion that strong to ward off nightmares a little girl wasn't supposed to have either.

Only later, when she had learnt to control herself better, this had stopped—or at least decreased to a certain level that left her to sleep without the potion… Perhaps she had only stopped taking the potion, not wanting to bother anyone with it, not wanting anyone to worry about her if she brewed it herself…

Thunder was rolling outside; hailstones hammered against the windowpanes as if they demanded entry. Severus could see the bolts of lightning through his closed eyelids. White-blue and furious, as they flashed past the high windows.

It felt as though hours had passed when the shudders and the sobs finally subsided and her breathing returned to a somewhat normal pace. That was when he tilted her head up to face him and bent to kiss away the tears from her wet cheeks. She hiccoughed and turned her face away from him. "I can't… You cannot possibly still…" She was interrupted by her own shuddering intakes of breath, on the verge of tears again.

He had a distinct presentiment of what she'd wanted to say. 'You cannot possibly still want me, now that you know what I am.' He knew it because somewhere in the back of his mind his own trains of thought had gone somewhat along the same lines, when he'd seen her face when she'd thought he was a Death Eater, a loyal servant of the Dark Lord.

Running his fingertips over her tearstained cheek, gently turning her head to face him again and wiping the tears away, he whispered, "Don't you love me, just a bit?"

She looked up, slightly startled, as startled as he was about the fact that he had uttered his thoughts so freely without even thinking before they'd slipped over his lips.

Her eyes locked with his. It was as though he could take a look into the very core of her soul, so undisguised and openly shown were the feelings battling for dominance on her features.

She swallowed hard once more. A large tear was running down the side of her nose and into the corner of her slightly open mouth, her lower lip quivering. Severus couldn't resist any longer. He cupped her face in his hands, as he had done every time he'd kissed her, and lavished kisses on her eyes, her forehead, her cheeks that were salty and wet with dried and fresh tears, and finally her lips that were equally salty and moist and so very soft.

Still holding on to his robes, yet not clutching them as tightly as before, she relaxed with a small sigh and melted into the kiss. He was gentle as though it were her first kiss, as if she would break if he kissed her harder, more urgently or passionately… It only lasted for a few precious seconds.

Her eyes were closed; her cheeks flushed, as he ran his fingertips along her jaw line and entwined his fingers in her hair. Tears glittered beneath her long eyelashes and started flowing over when he rested his forehead against hers for a moment. He drew her close again, as close as possible, just holding her as tightly as he could; thus silently telling her everything he couldn't put in words. It seemed he had used them up; he had simply run out of words. Thus, he merely held her, rubbing her back to make her feel safe and warm. 

A sigh of relief shuddered through her as he did so. Strange how easily he could tell her that he accepted her not in spite of who and what she was but because she simply existed on the face of this planet, on the face of this world both of them were part of—yet being completely unable to tell her that he wanted her to love him as desperately as he loved her, which he seemingly couldn't tell her either—not straight out at least. Why was it so hard to express himself openly and above all clearly, when she looked at him?

He rested his chin on top of her head, gently stroking her hair.

After another few minutes, he realized that she'd stopped crying entirely; her body limp and soft and yielding; her skin a bit warmer than was usual for her. Her breathing was even and regular…

She'd fallen asleep.

Severus got up—not an easy task when you had Sleeping Beauty in your lap and didn't want to wake her at any cost—but he finally made it. He smiled as she gave a small sigh in her sleep, a sleep she had denied herself for far too long a time. Slowly and carefully, he headed towards the adjacent room—her bedroom should be there, at least under normal circumstances. He wanted to place her on the bed and then leave discreetly; he felt like an intruder already although he had no intentions to do anything indecent—at least not now. This was really not a moment for thoughts like this.

However, she was clutching his robes so tightly in her sleep that he wouldn't be able to extricate them from her grasp without waking her—and who could tell if she'd fall asleep again as soon as he was gone? So he decided he might as well stay, (it might even be better when she woke up and wasn't alone again) and lowered himself and her onto the bed, smiling when he realized she was actually snuggling into him in her sleep. Like a kitten. What would she say if he told her that? Would she bite her lip, blushing? Would she deny it in a manner such as 'You can't prove it, so it never happened'?

_Oh, yes, she is annoying, she's complicated, she's a challenge, she's unique, she's here by my side, in my arms…_

Severus Snape fell asleep with his arms around her; his fingers playing with her hair, a small, relieved, almost happy, smile on his lips, as the thunders subsided. A gentle rain had begun to fall.

**~*~*~**

Severus jerked awake. Something had moved next to him. A quite heavy weight was lying on his chest. Blinking the sleep out of his eyes, he suddenly remembered where he was, who and what the weight on his chest was, whom the arm and the leg that were draped over him belonged to… And he also remembered what had happened—he checked the clock on the bedside table: 4:30 am—last night.

Sariss was still sleeping soundly. No wonder. She couldn't have slept very much the last dozen of days or so. She stirred slightly, a movement that made her hair tickle his chin and throat not quite unpleasantly.

He decided to get up and smooth the wrinkles out of his robes, waiting for her to wake up, too. He'd make sure she attended breakfast today.

Moving very slowly, and cautiously extricating himself from her body, he finally managed to get out of bed. She nestled into the mattress where he had been lying; the space he'd been occupying had to be still warm from his body heat. 

Severus silently made to creep back into her study. The fire had burnt down, but a simple swish with his wand and a whispered "Incendio" made it flare brightly and warmly again, throwing dancing shadows on the walls and the sleeping figure on the bed. Then he proceeded into the study. The faint firelight drenched the shelves lining the room on two sides in a reddish, shadowy light. He lit a few candles that were sitting in some silver and brass candelabras so he could look around a bit—just to occupy himself with something to kill the time.

He hadn't really had the opportunity to do so before; after all, there had been other things on his mind then.

You could learn a lot about people by finding out about what they liked to read, what they preferred to have around them. That was perhaps the reason for Severus not to have many personal things lying around openly in his rooms. He never had. His rooms were occupied by the Severus Snape that worked at Hogwarts, no more no less. Sariss's rooms, however, were somewhat of her life. Despite that they seemed to be organized in some way or other, there were distinct signs that they were being lived in. A cloak carelessly thrown over the armchair. A book lying face down on the sofa. A pair of shoes thrown into the corner near the exit. Little things, but they made these rooms her home. Even more than that. These rooms contained everything that was her, everything she was fond of, her past and her present.

He read the titles of some books that were stacked onto the shelf behind her desk. Many of them were about the Dark Arts. They were well worn. Of course they were. She taught Defence Against the Dark Arts, after all. She should have read them several times. Some of the books Severus recognized; he had read them, too, others he did not. _Congratulations! So you've decided to fight Evil_; _An Attempt at Explaining the Psychological Aspects of a Magical Person's Descent into the Dark Arts_; _An Insight into the Psyche of a Dark Wizard_—all of them written by Aurora D. Shade, a name not unknown to him. She had been one of his students, one of Sariss's best friends. It hadn't surprised him that her death was hard to cope with for Sariss. He wondered…

Yes, sure enough, there was a small glass box on one of the shelves, containing two long slender sticks—wands. Not her own. The names of their previous owners had been engraved in silver lettering: _Rick E. Allen—Aurora D. Shade._ Her two best friends… Killed by Seth Malfoy and a few other Death Eaters, Lucius Malfoy's cousin whom she had killed in return… She must have requested to be given their wands… 

Small pieces of parchment were pinned to the dark green velvet the wands were resting on, reading: _'Unicorn Hair, cedar, 10 ½ inches'_ and _'Unicorn Hair, mahogany, 8 inches'_ in an even and fluent script… 

_What's her wand made of?_ he wondered. Ah, yes, Dumbledore had told him once; he clearly remembered now…

"A very interesting combination, Severus," he'd said. "Dear old Ollivander was quite surprised, as astounded as I was myself. I had expected—and feared—her to get a certain other wand. Since it is the wand that chooses its owner it would have been only logical if…" he'd trailed off. 

"Which one, then?" Severus had asked, confused.

"Ah, well, it doesn't matter now. Phoenix feather, Redwood, 8 ¾ inches—a very powerful combination… Did you know that in Norse mythology the Yggdrasil, as redwood is referred to by the people living far north, is the tree that holds the earth in its boughs and binds the land and the heavens? Fascinating, isn't it? Combined with the Phoenix feather it makes this wand a powerful instrument of goodness… Curious that it chose her… very curious. And a good omen, I daresay."

Later on, Severus had asked him on more than one occasion what exactly he'd meant by that, what had been so curious. Now he knew; and strangely, to him it made perfect sense. Created by and for Evil, yet fighting against it. It had been her destiny—not that Severus Snape believed in Divination or the like…

There it lay. On her desk. Next to her inkstand and quill. The wand that had chosen her…

And there were many books lying open or face down on her desk, too. She had been busy… Obviously she had been trying to deal with her situation as the titles on the spines indicated quite clearly. _What Doesn't Kill You Only Makes You Stronger_ by Perpetua Fite (Severus knew this one _very_ well, too…); _Playing God—The Creatures of Salazar Slytherin_ by Polyphemus G. Mendel; _Dark Creatures and their Origins _by Charles D. Winn; _A Compendium of the Wizarding World's Creatures and their Abilities _by Brooke Clopedia Howse. The last one was closed, as it was a large tome of a book, but it had a piece of parchment in it. Severus opened the book on the page it pointed to although he had a suspicion what he would find there—and sure enough, there it was: Dementors. Everything about them. How no one really knew how they had come into existence—only that Salazar Slytherin had presumably had something to do with it. What they could do, how they affected the people around them; the Dementor's Kiss, how it worked, what it did to its victim, described in gruesome, horrible detail. Then the parchment caught his eye. The prophecy about the second—and presumably final—fall of the Dark Lord. He read it once again. _An outstretched hand; a deadly embrace…_ _The Dark Lord shall fall…_ He assumed it had been Sariss who had underlined these lines… It didn't make sense—or did it? 

He slammed the book shut. No wonder that she was so upset. Reading what was written in this book made even Severus shiver… Although it was all true to a Dementor, none of all of this applied to her… save the Kiss, perhaps… But how could Voldemort—or anyone else—be sure she'd be able to perform it at all? 

It was as simple as that. He couldn't. Not really. Not unless he put her to the test, which he hadn't been able to. Dumbledore had taken her to Hogwarts so he couldn't get his filthy hands on her, and a bit more than a year afterwards the Dark Lord had been vanquished… It would have been unexpected had there not been Sybill Trelawney's first true prophecy that had stated that the Dark Lord would fall simply because he couldn't kill the one he'd intended to be his victim… It had been unbelievable that Voldemort, at the height of his power, should fall because he couldn't kill a _baby_… Yet he had.

And there were quite a lot of crumpled, torn and even singed pieces of parchment in her wastepaper basket. Severus grabbed one off the top, one that wasn't damaged too much, smoothed it out a bit and scanned its content. A few seconds later, he wished he hadn't. He had seen and read many things in his life. Thus, he could tell without much difficulty that this was probably the most horrendous piece of wasted ink and parchment that he had ever laid eyes on.

Muttering curses and damnations against the _person_ who had found those words for her, he shredded the parchment into pieces and Banished them instead of only throwing the remains of the letter back into the basket where its companions still lay, looking so innocent yet bearing a message so clear that Sariss didn't even have to sense their writers' emotions. Iniquity and hate. 

So she had indeed received some spiteful mail, just as he had feared or rather had not even dared to fear. Not to this extent. Towards Dumbledore, most of the letters' writers had still displayed a certain amount of decency and respect—which was obviously lacking completely in the ones that had been sent to Sariss directly.

Severus paced for a moment, fuming with anger, and all of a sudden realized that he mustn't be angry when he was near her. And alone with her, too. When that thought had occurred to his mind, he stopped dead in his tracks and went towards the window, surveying the Quidditch pitch that lay in clear view of all her windows, the moon illuminating the outside in a gentle silvery light. The moon looked just like the pendant she always wore, a silver crescent, a waning moon. The world out there looked so peaceful. It always did after it had been cleansed by severe rain or thunderstorms. The sight calmed his mind…

Severus turned around, having heard a noise.

Sariss was standing in the doorway, sleepily leaning against the doorframe and rubbing her eyes. Her hair was quite tousled, her robes dishevelled, her eyes red and puffy from crying—that much was clearly visible even though the light in the room wasn't very bright—but to him she looked magnificent in the flickering twilight. Unreal, like a fairy, the pallor of her skin sharply contrasting with the dark colour of her hair and her black robes. She said nothing; she only looked at him with those large, red-rimmed eyes, now thankfully no longer shedding tears.

"It's still early. You should go back to sleep," Severus said calmly. "You need to catch up on some."

But she didn't return to her bedroom; she walked towards the sofa and sat down there instead. "I've been somewhat of a mess recently, haven't I?" She spoke softly, cautiously, as if she didn't want to accidentally stir awake the demons that had been haunting her.

"You were… quite a nuisance—not that I would really blame you for it," he replied quietly. "But running away and hiding is no solution; it never was and never will be. We can't just run away from what we are—and we can't run away from what we were. It took me quite some time myself to figure that one out." 

"Philosopher," she commented dryly. He almost thought he saw a wry smile tugging somewhere at the corners of her lips. 

"I had good teachers in the matter of philosophy," he countered equally dryly.

"Like whom?" She sounded still tired.

"Dumbledore, for example—well, mostly. But also Moody—the impostor as well as the _real_ one—the only DADA teacher in a decade to last more than a year in a row without ending up with the remains of a Dark wizard on the back of his head, that is," he said sarcastically, throwing her a meaningful glance and a lopsided smile. She returned it, if only faintly. "And as much as I hate to admit it—," he winced for emphasis, "—I confess even through Lupin and Black, former schoolmates of mine—I never liked them—I've come to conclusions about myself—not very pleasant ones, mind you." She had to smile at that statement. A smile that lit up her face. It was a start. "And there's you, of course," he added.

"What? Why me?" She met his gaze, a surprised expression on her face. He had almost forgotten what she looked like when she let her emotions—other than sadness and misery—show. And now he was literally showered in the multitude of different expressions that appeared on her face.

"You showed me I could feel something apart from fear of being discovered, hate towards Voldemort for what he made me do, sometimes even towards Dumbledore who asked me to join the Dark Lord once again even if only for spying purposes. I almost lost myself in Darkness once more. Self-loathing is what I feel most of the time, I think—and you know it—perhaps even some self-pity, which is the lowest of all feelings—feeling sorry for yourself gets you nowhere," he said bitterly. It felt strange to him to put his emotions into words and utter them to another person. But it was easier when he was with her, since he only confirmed what she sensed already. "And watching you fight against yourself every single moment I saw you—well, as soon as I'd opened my eyes and really saw you—taught me that there are after all things worth to be fighting for, of which not the least is life itself. A quite important lesson that was. I just learnt the main part of it recently, when it was almost too late, too late for your life."

"You know exactly what you're talking about."

He sat down next to her. "Oh yes, I definitely do…" 

**~*~*~**

He looked sad now—an expression hardly ever crossing Severus Snape's face—at least not when he was aware that he was being watched. 

It was as if their roles were switched. Sariss suddenly felt the urge to comfort him instead of asking for comfort herself. "Then neither of us will have to be sad on their own," she said softly and pulled him into her arms; a gesture that seemed to startle him a bit, as it was quite unexpected an action coming from her in a moment like this. "I forgive you," she whispered, hardly trusting her voice, stroking his hair, as he had done with her earlier that night. "Severus." 

In a way, it felt important to say his name again. For some strange reason that Sariss couldn't seem to figure out, it had always meant so much in their relationship to say each other's first name. It was something of a sign that they were all right with each other. They might as well have used a thousand words and they wouldn't have expressed so much as they could with that single word that was 'Severus' or 'Sariss'. Those two words could mean anything from 'So we're alone…' to 'Thank you for being there.' 

Thus, it gave an even deeper meaning to those simple three words that were 'I forgive you.' It emphasized them to an extent that was so unimaginable that Sariss only grew aware of it when the words had already been said.

"And I trust you," she added, tears lingering in her voice as well as stinging in her eyes again. And that just when she'd thought there wouldn't be any more tears left.

He did not reply. He only sighed deeply, put his arms around her and brushed his lips over her skin for a second. They were dry as parchment but at the same time, they were so soft and so hot whereas hers were always so cold. Well, almost always. Only then, she realized how much she had missed this. His warmth, the familiarity of his scent, the light-headedness that overcame her when he was so close, as though the outside world were of no importance at all…

For several minutes, they said nothing. It was completely silent save for the crackling noises of the fire burning in the fireplace and the sound of his breathing. She could feel his warm breath on her neck. It made shivers run down her spine. She had almost forgotten…

When Sariss swallowed a sigh or sob or whatever it would have become, had she allowed it to escape, Severus lifted his head from her shoulder and looked at her. His eyes were… different. So _open_. So… full of emotions and unshed tears. She had never looked as deep into his soul as she did now. This was Severus Snape as hardly a handful of people had ever seen him, as he _allowed_ only a handful of people to see him. She was shaken by what she saw. She hadn't been prepared for anything quite like this—and she had already had an idea of the chains that were around his innermost self, binding it to pain and Darkness. It was heartbreakingly similar to her own, like a reflection of herself.

Sariss tried to blink back another tear. It escaped despite her efforts, snaking its way downwards, leaving a moist and salty trail behind.

"You…" he began, but trailed off again, brushing her cheek with his knuckles. Obviously, he was at a loss for words now.

"Yes," she whispered softly, resting her hand against his cheek, gently running her thumb over his cheekbone, her eyes not leaving his for the fraction of a second as she did so. He covered her hand with his, leaning into her palm, pressing his lips to her wrist, the spot where the pulse is. 

Running her other hand through his hair and resting it on the nape of his neck (he looked up), she drew him near, brought her lips to his and kissed him, gently, savouring his taste, his scent, the feel of his mouth that sometimes looked so hard yet was so very soft when she kissed him. Still tentatively brushing her lips over his, she started to melt against him again, when he kissed her back, in exactly the way he brewed his potions. Carefully, meticulously, painstakingly slowly. It was as though the world started spinning around her. She couldn't think of anything else but the feeling of his lips covering hers; her body so very close to his once again; his arms around her, embracing her, holding her tightly; his fingers running through her hair, gathering it up and entwining themselves in it as if of a will of their own.

He slowly deepened the kiss, taking her breath away. His hands seemed to leave searingly hot traces on her neck, her shoulders, her back, making a warmth spread through her body such as she'd never felt before. Pulling her head back so he had better access to her throat and neck, he left her mouth and trailed kisses along her jaw line and towards her throat. His kisses, light but so very warm as they were, caused her to shiver again. She slid her other hand around his neck, too, her fingers into his hair, which felt so incredibly soft, softer than she would ever have thought it could feel… 

She had almost forgotten…

All her senses seemed to be heightened; that must be the reason why she felt as though she were floating… This felt so… amazing… so special, sinful, wicked, wonderful…

**~*~*~**

A sigh escaped Sariss's lips as Severus found a particularly sensitive spot and—due to the reaction he'd caused—paid some more attention to it; sinking his teeth into her soft, once again flawless, milk-white flesh. Slowly and as gently as possible, he drew it between his teeth, savouring the taste of her now slowly warmer getting skin, sucking lightly, thus extricating a series of little noises from her that she had never before uttered. They sounded so beguiling, so luscious, but at the same moment so innocently surprised and astounded… as though she herself hadn't known that she was capable of making those sweet, husky, noises.

Her hands were entangled in his hair and roaming over his back. 

"Severus…" she whispered, and he moved to kiss her mouth again. She captured him in a kiss that was so incredible, so deep, hot and seducing… she had never kissed him remotely like that before. It was as if she wanted to make up for lost time. He kissed her back fervently, matching her ardour completely.

As her hands left his neck and shoulders and crawled into his robes, he forced himself to pull away from her, catching his breath, trying to gather his wits enough to be able to speak, which he did. "Sariss…" he said quite unsteadily. "I think we both know where this is going to end if we don't stop this right now."

She was flushed, her cheeks rosy, her lips red and swollen from their passionate kissing. Resting her hands against his chest, she answered breathlessly, "What if I don't want to stop?"

He wanted her, too. He wanted to hold her, make love to her and kiss her as though the world were to end the following day. But she was so vulnerable now, so easily hurt, so easy to influence… As much as he wanted her… And, oh gods, how much he wanted her! Ever since their first real kiss, no even before that, he had wanted her… But it was still too early, too soon after what she had gone through, wasn't it? So he settled for a hesitant, "I wouldn't want to take advantage of you. You might regret it if we—." 

She put her finger to his lips, thus silencing him. "I won't if you won't," she whispered, grabbing him by the collar and drawing him with her as she laid down on the sofa, pressing her lips against his again, opening her mouth under his, hungrily sliding her little lukewarm hands back into his shirt and around his neck, pulling him towards her. All conscious thoughts left his mind then; there were no more doubts, no more fears, no past, no future, nothing but her.

_No regrets._

His lips followed the path they had taken earlier; along her jaw line, then further down, eliciting a series of shuddering breaths and little gasps from her again as he found the very spot he had discovered only a minute ago. He dwelt on it until he felt her whole body go all weak and she sighed his name again.

It was then that he picked her up—she seemed almost weightless at this moment; light as a feather, as if she weren't really there at all—and carried her back into the bedroom, breaking their eye-contact not for the fraction of a second; delighting in the desire and need he could see burning in her eyes. Eyes that had been cold and empty a not so very long time ago. Now they were full of life again, a bit older, more grown-up, perhaps, but full of the life that had dreaded to leave them forever—.

"You're alive," he said. "You're here."

"I'm yours," she breathed and kissed him again, in a way that threatened to make him stumble and fall.

As soon as he'd put her down again she started to fumble with the clasps of his robes, not very successfully since her hands, along with the rest of her body, were shivering with anticipation. He assisted her, also trembling; pulling off his robe and, while they were at it, her robe, too. She wore a dress underneath, a close-fitting, black dress made of some incredibly soft and flowing material similar to velvet, but it wasn't even getting close to the sensation he felt when he touched her skin. The dress was of classic shape, simple, decent—yet revealing more than it should possibly have—although, he had to admit, perhaps this was only so because he was so close to her and so absorbed in the sight and feel of her, so conscious of the curves of her breasts, her narrow waist, the gentle curves of her hips and thighs… a perfect hourglass figure. He found himself inwardly cursing those wizard's robes. They had almost always hidden this image of seduction… (But—on the other hand—that might have been a good thing…) She was the very embodiment of sin, as she lay there, still completely dressed, yet absolutely breathtakingly seductive and beautiful in the silvery light of the moon that seeped in through the windows, bathing the two of them.

He ran his hand over her body deliciously slowly, her thigh, her hip, her stomach, her breasts, then he pulled her up against him so it was easier for him to free her of her dress. As soft as the material was, he suddenly found it highly offending, only because it was between them. Her thoughts seemed to follow the same path since she was already unbuttoning his shirt; her fingers slithering over his naked chest, leaving a burning trail behind where they touched him. 

More and more of their clothing found its way to the floor, as he teased and kissed every square inch of her skin he exposed, skin that had been mistreated and injured just a fortnight or so ago but was now perfectly whole and healthy, soft and smooth, again, making goose bumps erupt all over her as he caressed and stroked and kissed the delicate white flesh of her breasts and moving systematically lower. 

She was positively burning now. Her hands warm on his arms and shoulders and back, against his chest and in his hair… Her breath was coming in little gasps and sighs, little noises that sounded as though he were playing an instrument.

Retracing his path upwards, he could hear a small moan of frustration from her that he quickly silenced with a long and hungry kiss.

"Severus," she breathed softly, against his lips. "You should know… I haven't ever done anything like this before…"

Although she had never made a comment about that, he had actually suspected it; everything about her had indicated it. The way no one had ever really approached her but her closest friends. Most people were at least a bit afraid of the aura of power that surrounded her—and most of those who weren't she pushed away—for obvious reasons… The way she'd blushed or tried to pull away, to keep a certain distance, when somebody was being close to her like when they had been dancing… The way she'd kissed him for the first time… Scared of losing control over something she couldn't even name… Thus, he wasn't really surprised, and he said so.

"I know," he whispered, pushing a strand of her hair away that had somehow crawled its way over her forehead and down the right side of her face. "I won't hurt you, I promise. I'll never let you get hurt again for as long as blood runs through these veins of mine." He made to reach for his wand. Certain precautions were definitely in order. But she caught his hand before it reached the wrinkled heap of his robes.

She shook her head no and ran her left hand, her wand hand, over his cheek, brushing the tip of her forefinger over his tingling lips; then she pressed the palm of her hand on her stomach, mouthing a spell. He couldn't quite understand which one it was, but he knew what it was for as the glowing spell seeped into her. She indeed lived true to her dictum: _Always be prepared_.

And then she pulled him down on her, wrapping her body around him, devouring his mouth in a deep, hot, desperate kiss that bordered on being suffocating. By now she must have realized how much he wanted her, he was sure of this. Pulling his mouth away from hers, yet hovering above her so that their breaths mingled, he asked her one last time, "Are you sure about this?"

"I've never been surer about anything," she answered, smiling up at him in a way that… there were no words to describe this smile with. It was a small smile, hardly there at all, but it reached her eyes, making them sparkle—he wanted to drown in her eyes. Those watery-green pools that could look at him so coldly and grimly, so lovingly and seductively…

She was not in the least afraid.

Locking his gaze with hers, he started to ease himself inside her. She was more than ready for him, deliciously tight, and as he felt something give way, she gasped, gave a small whimper of pain and arched up against him, painfully digging her fingernails into the skin of his shoulders, burying her face in the crook of his neck, her hot breath coming in little gasps. He held her, unmoving, letting her grow accustomed to this sensation that was so new to her. She moaned softly, but held onto him, tremors racing through her, the muscles in her body seemingly protesting against his intrusion—which caused him to draw in a sharp breath between his teeth. _Not yet. Too soon. Take your time._

After a few moments, when the tremors had subsided, he laid her back into the pillows, and leisurely running his hands up the sides of her stomach and over her breasts, he pulled her arms over her head and laced his fingers with hers; then, very slowly, he began moving, and after a few moments she responded, matching the rhythm he'd set perfectly, as though she'd never done anything else in her life but made love to him. 

Her whole body tensed and relaxed in quick succession, arching up against him over and over again, her breathing fast, her voice low and husky as she whispered his name in the very way he wanted and needed to hear it.

Shudders of passion raced through her body—he could feel them as clearly as his own—as he slowly increased his pace. She was writhing beneath him, around him, giving him more pleasure than he could ever have asked of her. He hadn't expected it to be like this, not when this was her first time. Was she reading his emotions? That would be an easy enough task for her, now that Severus could think of nothing else but her, for once in his life thinking solely about her and nothing else, not the Dark Lord, not the danger they both were in, not the past. 

It was a frightening experience to be with her. She was so different from any other woman he had ever known. She was so strong. Maybe that was the reason why she always seemed so cold and detached. But now she chose not to be strong any longer. In his arms, she was weak, fragile, and pliant, and she was all that because she wanted to. She had the strength to expose herself to him in every way he could think of. It scared him to the bone—but strangely, that only added to the ecstasy.

Severus lavished kisses on the tender flesh of her breasts, hot kisses, wicked kisses, drawing her rosy, painfully hard and sensitive nipples between his teeth, sucking the taste of her skin into him. Bittersweet and intoxicating. And Sariss responded by arching her back and uttering his name in hoarse, barely audible whispers and sighs.

After a while, her breathing became shallow and even frantic. Amazing that she could suddenly be as scared as he had been only moments ago. Scared of giving in? Of losing control?

"Let go. I'll catch you when you fall," he reassuringly whispered against her lips, releasing her hands so they were free to roam over his body, which they did. Sariss pressed the palms of her hands firmly against him, his chest, his shoulders, his back, as though she wanted to imprint her hands on him, memorize every sinew and muscle in his body. All this time she had had her eyes closed, her throat exposed to his sensual assault as she arched her body against him like a living crossbow. Now she opened them again and started to speak—or rather breathe, "Severus, I…" She was interrupted by a series of moans, which he managed to elicit from her. "Please…" He slowed down his pace—it must be maddeningly slow for her—and covered her mouth with his again; those delicious little gasps and sighs she gave echoing in his mouth as her hands ran down his back, urging him on.

Then, as he pushed her over the edge, she uttered a small scream, arching up against him once again, and collapsed, her body trembling, her breathing heavy. At the very moment this happened, the air prickled again and the walls crackled in protest of the impact of the magic that clearly came from her. And all the candles that were usually illuminating the room but hadn't been set alight for obvious reasons—Sariss and Severus had been otherwise occupied—seemed to literally explode; but merely for a second until only a few merrily flickering flames remained, throwing a gentle light on the scene.

Sariss's hands were leaving searing trails all over him; her fingers dug into his skin as if she wanted to make sure that he was really there—and her nails were a bit sharpish. Even the pain sent surprisingly interesting sensations through him. Her usually so very cold body was emitting a heat that seemed to make her glow from the inside. It was strangely satisfying that Severus knew that what he was doing caused her to be like that.

He was not finished assaulting her senses yet. It was a devastating experience; completely impossible that they were making love so decadently as if there was nothing but the two of them in the world. Maybe that was the reason why it felt so exceptionally good to be with her. Mmm… And the things she kept saying… She was so obviously not aware that she was saying such things. She wasn't thinking. She was only feeling. He liked what he heard, her incoherent Come Hithers, her sighs, her small screams.

It was better than any dream about her that he'd ever had.

She shuddered violently once more.

And Severus, too, felt tremors rush through his body, before he found himself collapsed on top of her, her hands travelling upwards and into his hair, running through it, stroking him tenderly, holding him close.

He could hear her heart beating.

After a few moments of savouring the myriads of sensations that were flowing through his body, he lifted his head and looked at her face. Her eyes were closed, her cheeks flushed, her slightly parted lips so very invitingly red and rosy, her forehead covered in a thin layer of sweat.

_So beautiful. Like a marble angel… But so soft… And alive._

He brushed a kiss over those almost bruised lips before he rolled off her, pulling her with him so he could hold her in his arms. There was not the slightest hint of resistance in her. Softness incarnate. Her body was so warm now; she was still wrapped around him in a way that made it seem to him that there was not a single spot on either one of their bodies that wasn't touching.

He drew some of the blankets up around her shoulders, to keep the warmth there for a little while longer, and put his arms around her, pressing her against his body.

So conscious of the feeling of her hand resting on his chest he was, so conscious of the sensation of her breath on his damp skin, of the structure of her hair that seemed to have crawled its way simply everywhere, the softness and temperature of her skin that was cooling all too rapidly as she lay there, snuggling into him, sighing contentedly… There was no need for words now. The afterglow was just too delicious to spoil it by saying something stupid. There were so many clichés that could be said now, completely spoiling the mood. Things from 'And? How was it for you?' to 'You were great.' They would make it sound like some sort of contest. Who's the better lover? Who's best?

But he could say something else, something that was also a cliché. Perhaps even more of a cliché than the others. He could say, 'I love you.' When spoken in moments like this one, however, it seldom had as much meaning as it had when you said it because you looked at the one you loved and were violently reminded how much you loved them. Severus had loved very few people in his life. And even fewer people had loved him. Sariss might be one of the people who added to both. What if he told her he loved her right this instant? What would she answer?

He chose not to speak at all. 

"Sariss?" he whispered after a while, suddenly aware that there was a wetness where her face was that didn't really belong there.

"Hmm?" she answered, her breath lingering at the base of his throat. 

"Are you… crying?" he asked, somewhat alarmed.

"Yes." He could hardly hear her.

"I… I didn't hurt you, did I?" he enquired cautiously, an unpleasant feeling starting to arise in his stomach.

"No, not really," she whispered softly.

Severus breathed a sigh of relief although this had been another one of her infamous, indistinct answers. 

"Then why are you crying?" he asked, gently stroking her hair and her hand that was still resting on his chest.

"It's just… I don't know it myself," Sariss replied and hoisted herself up so that he could see her face. "Pay no attention. It will pass. I'm sure of it." Tears were glistening on her cheeks, like large, transparent pearls, but a smile was on her lips as she brushed his damp hair out of his face and kissed him again, a deep and lingering kiss; the lusciously sweet taste of her mouth mingling with the salty taste of the sweat and the tears covering her face.

He rolled her onto her back again and began everything anew. She must have bewitched him. A single long, sweet kiss had sufficed to make him painfully aware that once had not been enough. Not even remotely. He realized that most likely he would never get enough of her, and he had to admit that he didn't ever want it to be enough, as she, no longer shy and reserved, pushed him onto his back again, straddling him with her legs, and started exploring his body as he had explored hers, her hands and mouth curiously roaming everywhere, discovering and capturing, touching him in a way that was so—he couldn't think of any words to describe the sensations he felt with.

There was no pleasure, no rapture, no exquisite sin greater…

**Next chapter:**

Sariss recalls the most recent events, attends breakfast, gets almost suffocated and actually manages a smile or two—and Ron loses a bet.


	25. She Is My Sin

**Author's note:** Big thanks go to Miriam, Blaise, Madi, aratarvarda and CassieXanthe. If I forgot somebody, just drop me a note. The last week's been mayhem—not that I'd complain.

Chapter 24: She is My Sin

**_Bless me, undress me  
Pick your prey in a wicked way  
God I must confess...  
...I do envy the sinners_**

_—Nightwish: She is my Sin_

Sariss had fallen asleep again. Severus could tell from her even breathing and the way she snuggled into him; she seemed to do this on instinct, looking for warmth even when she was asleep. He closed his eyes, trying to memorize the feel of her against him. Shouldn't he sleep too? He should feel exhausted, shouldn't he? Indeed, he should. After a night like that, it would have been only natural. But he was far too busy bathing in the afterglow to be able to sleep. He wanted to consciously feel her against him, rest his hand on her hip and gently run his other hand over her back or stroke her cheek or play with her hair or draw little invisible patterns on her arm… A part of his mind still thought that it must have been one of those pleasant dreams he'd had before the Dark Lord had shattered them.

A thought struck him then, quite suddenly. All the time, she had completely ignored the Dark Mark that was as livid as never before on his forearm. She had not wasted a single glance at it, not even when her hand had strayed over it, a movement that had made Severus wince slightly. She had ignored it. Perhaps this had been because she knew he had it, she knew what it looked like—she must have seen Dark Marks on Death Eaters before; after all she had been an Auror—yet it was a strange feeling for him. He wasn't used to being judged by what he was now, he was kind of used to being judged by what he had been—and he had been carefully watching over it that it stayed that way for a very long time…

This was a completely new feeling; being accepted like this, with his past—or at least a great part of it, the worst part…

And the Dark Mark was a ghastly reminder. She had dismissed it completely.

The sun was rising; the thunderstorm had rid the sky of its dark, grey clouds. It promised to become a perfect sapphire blue. The rays of light started to penetrate the windowpanes and the raindrops that were clinging to them, thus throwing dancing, glittering shadows on Sariss's hair, face and the bare skin of her arm that was draped over Severus's chest. Her hair looked like dark fire with all those different shades of brown and red and copper that were rendered visible by the sun. It looked so alive when it was hit by any kind of light. But it always looked different, depending on the light's source, depending on whether it was the light of the sun, the moon, fire, mere daylight… Severus marvelled at that. It was as though even her hair weren't sure of the mood it should be in, ever changing, never constant. It seemed to have a personality of its own, a personality similar to hers. And he adored both.

She stirred and made a small noise of contentment. Severus felt her twinkle—her eyelashes tickled him as she did so—and she groaned disapprovingly.

"Good morning," he said softly yet brightly.

"I don't know what could possibly be good on a morning," she mumbled and buried her face deeper in her hair, against his chest.

_Obviously not a morning person_.

"Should I take this statement personal?" Severus drawled. Apparently, she hadn't realized that she was not alone. She had already drifted back into sleep.

**Definitely not a morning person.**

Severus cleared his throat quite exaggeratedly.

Sariss jerked awake. "What?" she said, a tinge of annoyance in her voice, as she blinked her eyes open. To Severus she looked lovely as dishevelled and sleepy as she was.

Her eyes suddenly widened. "Severus!"

"I'm glad you remember my name. You had me worried for a while," he smirked.

She snorted, then grew serious. "We… er… well…" she stuttered.

"Yes, we… er… well…" he quoted her, highly amused at her choice of words—or rather the lack thereof. "Do you need to brush up on your memory of last night? I could help you there. I'd gladly help you there."

"Give me a few moments to recover from the shock of morning light, will you? I'm not a morning person," she murmured sleepily, against his chest again.

"That I already noticed." He felt her smile. It was a good sign that she hadn't turned away, hadn't jumped up, hadn't thrown him out or asked him to leave—yet. On the contrary. She was nestling into his embrace.

Part of him still feared that she would regret it, although she'd already said she wouldn't if he didn't. But that was the problem because to him it was that if she'd regret it, then he would, too. He found himself in somewhat of a stalemate situation.

"I don't want to get up," she said with a sigh of contentment. "Ever."

"Don't you think this is a fairly long time?"

"Not really." One of her favourite answers to his questions.

"You… you don't regret anything, do you?" he asked. If she said 'not really' now he'd—.

"Not…" (He held his breath.) "…at all," she said and lifted her head to plant a little kiss to the corner of his mouth. Then she drew the covers up and snuggled into him again, her lips brushing over his chest. Unfortunately, her lips along with the rest of her body were cool again. But despite of that, it felt so good to have her so very close. He knew he could set her on fire again, if he chose to. No, Severus found himself not regretting anything at all as he let himself doze off for a few moments.

"I'm sorry," Sariss suddenly spoke up.

His eyes snapped open. "Whatever for?" Severus asked, feeling a bit puzzled.

"For what I said when you tried to talk to me a few days ago. I shouldn't have said those things. You mustn't take everything I say seriously, you know? I shouldn't have said many things… I only said them to—."

"Why?"

"I thought it would make it easier… I thought I could just ignore it, forget about it…" she said in a very small voice.

"But it didn't work that way, did it?"

She didn't answer.

He rolled to the side, so he could turn to face her fully (she moved with him as if she knew what he intended) and noticed that she didn't avert her gaze, as she would have done only a short time ago. He was grateful for it and silently thanked whatever powers were responsible for this.

"You don't have to face all of this alone, you know?" Severus whispered, brushing his fingers over another one of her rebellious strands of hair—an action that made her smile. "I'll always be there when you need someone. I promise you that."

_I'll take care of you. Forever, if you want me to. Not because _you_ need someone, but because I_ _want to. _

"Thank you," Sariss said and hugged him tightly, pressing her lips to his throat. Severus realized it would take some time to get used to that sort of affectionate gestures, especially when they came from her. But then again, why get used to them at all? Why not cherish each one of them as though it were the first touch, the first kiss?

Gently pushing her back, he said with a smile, "Breakfast should be ready to be served any minute now. Care to join me?"

"I don't know if…" she trailed of, biting her lip and looking meaningfully up at him with her large, always questioning, eyes.

"Don't worry. There are not many people there. Above all, Draco Malfoy is not, no Slytherins at all. That's what you're worried about most, aren't you?" he asked, caressing her cheek with his thumb, which caused her to lean into his hand and put her hand on his to hold it against her face for a moment.

She took a deep breath and nodded. "He has been awfully quiet during the last week. Strange. I had expected him to gloat, to try and get me to lose it or something… I don't know what I expected him to do… Mostly, I was trying and ignoring him and all the others. I didn't want to see the way they look at me. I still don't. It… makes me feel… _uncomfortable_." That was one hell of an understatement. Uncomfortable? What a euphemism. Since when did uncomfortable mean 'feel like dying'?

"Shh," Severus said, kissing her forehead. He didn't want her to dissolve into tears again. "We don't have to talk about it, if you don't want to."

"But I have to." She gulped. "I have to talk about it. A little at a time. This time, the issue is Malfoy. He's dangerous, I'm telling you. And it has nothing to do with… what happened to me. I'd regard him as dangerous if everything else were fine."

"But it isn't."

"No, it isn't. His father must have told him, Death Eater that he is—and with him everyone else. The _Daily Prophet_ wasn't exactly helpful either… And then the letters…" Her voice as well as her body shook dangerously as she said all this.

"Malfoy. Yes. He could prove to be more of a problem than we could ever have imagined. I've taken to watching my back with him around, too. I'd never have thought I'd say this one day, but as much as I tried to please his father by being especially lenient towards Draco, maintaining my Death Eater contacts by doing so quite well over the last years… the boy really _had_ so much potential… if only his father hadn't had such a great influence on him… He was born a Death Eater, even before the Mark was burnt into his arm. When he could hardly walk, hardly pronounce his own name, his fate had already been decided by his father."

_Our fathers shape us more than you could ever imagine. You grew up without him. Sometimes it's better not to have a father to shape you the way he wants you to be. He tried without you knowing that it was him. But he didn't completely succeed…_

"There's no need to feel pity for him. It's our choices it comes down to in the end, not those of our fathers," she whispered bitterly. "We make our decisions on our own, may they prove right or wrong."

_Our choices. Not those of our fathers…_

"Well, right now the decision you have to make is choosing between staying here and discussing things that cannot be changed or gracing me with your long lost presence at breakfast. Believe it or not, it wasn't only me who missed you," Severus quickly changed the subject. It would do no good if the conversation turned into that direction now. For neither one of them.

"Alright," she sighed. "Let go of me, so I can get up, before I change my mind."

He did so, watching her slip out of the bed and grab her clothes; her hair concealing most of her body like a flowing, soft veil, but nonetheless—or even because… She drove thoughts of darkness and evil from his mind.

"Lovely," he said. She turned to look at him and wrinkled her nose, a slightly embarrassed smile on her face, but a playful twinkle in her eyes, as she clutched the heap of clothes.

"You're insatiable, Severus." She blushed, looking at the floor. "I give you my small finger and you grab hold of my whole hand instead."

"The way I remember it I had hold of much more than just your hand, as did you," he drawled, raising one eyebrow at her as soon as she looked at him.

She actually gasped and blushed at that, giving an incredulous laugh, then bit her lip and rolled her eyes before rushing out of the room, through the study, and into the bathroom to get dressed. "Lovely," he whispered once again and got up himself.

**~*~*~**

"Lovely," Sariss heard Severus mutter once more when she closed the bathroom door and leant against it for a moment, before she made herself ready for the day, still giggling softly like a schoolgirl at his naughty comment when she'd left the shower and had dressed.

He was absolutely right. They both had had hold of… well… roundabout every single part of each other's body. It seemed she could still feel him all over her, his tongue rubbing against her skin, his teeth grazing over it, his hands and lips touching and teasing and caressing her… The way he had stroked and kissed her breasts and stomach and thighs and—among others—this spot right above her left collarbone that he had paid so much attention to. It was as if there had been a sign that said 'Turn on here.'

Sariss chuckled at that thought, before a little shiver, induced by that very thought, passed over her.

Oh! The way his body had felt. Taut, yet soft. Strong, yet yielding. Muscular, but slender and sinewy. And so warm, seemingly giving off enough heat to set her completely on fire, making her forget any uncertainty—or bashfulness or whatever you might call it—that she had ever possessed. Perhaps one could call it shame. At a certain point, it had simply evaporated and vanished. Just like the fear.

There had only been he, hovering over her or lying beneath her, his hands behind, before, above, between, below, simply everywhere on her; and his eyes had always been looking at her as though she were a vision. She had been bathing in his gaze. His eyes had touched her like an additional pair of lips brushing, or hands roving, over her, sending little flames over her skin, searing her right down to the core of her very being, or so it seemed…

She'd never have thought it to be like this. The theory of it had, of course, been quite clear to her, although only in a distant and clinical sense. The facts of life had been explained to her like they were sooner or later to any child. She had read books whose content had included the inescapable love scene, seen Muggle movies with similar content—and didn't like very much what she saw there in most cases. It had struck her as practical and sometimes even vulgar and offensive. Carnal and raw. And short-lived. Thus, she had never really understood the almost fanatical preoccupation with the act of making love. Hopelessly overrated and overestimated, she'd always thought. She'd never quite grasped the extent of people's enthusiasm for it.

On the other hand, Sariss had always considered love as all-encompassing—and completely not destined for her. The same it had been with the physical act. Lovely illusions they had been, hadn't they? Until now.

However, as a consequence of all of this, she would never have dared to dream that the act of making love could involve so much kissing, so much violent tenderness, so much more than… well… _the task at hand_. But now it all made sense to her. Love was the ingredient that drove the negative projections away. It was indescribable, unexplainable. Sariss found she loved him. And she knew he loved her. He didn't have to say it. Sariss had felt it in every touch. After all, it was only words. She couldn't think that there could be another man who'd make her feel like that. So precious. As if she were actually a human being. It seemed that to him she was.

And, in sometimes not really coherent utterances, he had whispered to her how beautiful he found her, how sweet, how soft, how he loved the sound of her saying his name, the feel of her skin, the scent of her hair, everything about her. Somehow, she couldn't think of anything she had said to him in reply or at all…

But did he have any idea how much of a vision he was to her? In her eyes, he was beautiful. Simply magnificent. The first man who had touched her like that. The first man she'd ever touched like that. She could hardly believe it. Never had she actually imagined what he'd look like without his clothes on. It was funny. It had never occurred to her that, if he were to take her to bed, he'd be taking his clothes off. It had also not occurred to her that she wouldn't be wearing anything. Had the thought occurred to her, she would have been embarrassed. But the way it had been… There hadn't been the slightest hint of awkwardness. It had felt so right. His body.

By now, she knew it even better than he knew it himself. The memory alone made her want him again. She could still smell him. Musky and peppery, a deliciously bittersweet and heavy scent, lingering all over her. Almost like perfume. Almost drenched in the fragrance that was so very him. Incredibly arousing. And she could still taste him, too.

Oh my god! She was having those thoughts about Severus Snape! Severus Snape, Potions master, former teacher! And now they were not to be forced back any longer for the simple fact that they were no longer mere thoughts but memories. If Rory were still alive, they'd be talking about it surely and Rory would make fun of Sariss in a good-natured way… _No, don't mourn lost friends any longer; think about found lovers._ One particular lover to be exact; the only one to ever kiss her and touch her in that particular way he'd done it. Rory would have grinned and exclaimed, "You seduced a teacher!" and thrown her a mock-scandalised look. And Sariss would have replied, "Ex-teacher. And I didn't. It was all his fault!" But that would not have been completely the truth.

It was weird and wonderful to know that it had been real, all of it. Who would have thought that this could be the, on the outside, unpleasant, bad-tempered and sometimes downright obnoxious Potions master who had been making mad and tenderly violent love to her? Who was this man, this gentle but passionate lover who had elicited sounds from her she hadn't thought herself capable of, who had seemed to be losing himself in her as she was constantly losing herself in his emotions?

He hadn't felt like himself to her mind. What had emanated from him was so unlike the Severus Snape she had grown accustomed to that it was hardly imaginable. Something was different about him; something that had constantly been there was absent now, and although she couldn't tell exactly what it was, a part of her felt that it was gone and decided that it felt nice and, on a certain level perhaps, better than before.

Before. Before what? Before he'd learnt about what she was? That was a ridiculous thought. If he were to change because of that, he'd change for the worse. No, it must be something else. Something that had penetrated his defences and shattered everything that was necessary for him to pretend something. He couldn't pretend anymore; was that what it was? Was that the tiny bit that was gone now, the way he usually guarded everything, pretending that he was cold and unfeeling? He had been so good at pretending that. He had even fooled her; even her and that when she was pretending that too. And why? Because it made everything seem so damned easy, as though you could bear anything as long as you didn't show how much it really affected you.

Somehow, the way it was now, it made him seem more real, more human. And that he'd still wanted her after everything that had come crashing down, and the way he'd, the previous night, insisted that nothing of it mattered an iota… That had brought down even the strongest of the few defences she'd had left. The last ounce of strength she possessed had left her at some point. Her utter vulnerability had crashed down on her, even more than when—(**Don't think about it!**). She'd broken down again, that time completely. Not merely a bit, as she'd done every other hour during the last days. No, he'd made everything spill out of her. Words and tears. He'd held her when she'd broken down; he'd gathered her up. She hadn't even found enough strength to push him away. She hadn't even wanted to do that any longer.

And then, after a time that seemed like hours but couldn't possibly have been that long, he'd wanted to kiss her. He'd still wanted to kiss her! And that when he had known what that mouth of hers could do—according to the Dark Lord—when he knew exactly that she was monstrous and didn't belong in the circle of nature.

But he had made her feel more than human. The relief had swept through her in a way that left her no choice but to cry even more forcefully. She couldn't think of a time when she'd cried so unabashedly and unashamed of herself and others—not even when she'd sobbed into Dumbledore's beard had she cried like that. After all, he had been a stranger back then.

She must have fallen asleep at some point, since, when she'd awoken, she'd found herself lying in her bed unable to remember how she'd gotten there. And she'd been alone. She'd been glad when she'd heard him moving around in her study, glad that he hadn't left wordlessly, and had joined him.

They'd spoken quietly, as though it were sacrilege to speak any louder in an almost dark room, as if her study were sacrosanct.

Then they'd kissed, resumed where they'd left off, so to speak, as if nothing had happened—or perhaps that wasn't right. Maybe it had to happen to make them reach a state of mind where both of them could forgive and be forgiven. She'd wanted him so much. If it had been a result of her long, self-indulged separation from him or the need to have him confirm his mental and verbal affirmations in a physical way, she couldn't tell. Perhaps it had been neither. Perhaps it had been both. Perhaps they'd simply come full circle or something like that.

Be that as it may, the memory of his touch lingered. And she simply couldn't bring herself to really care _why_ he still wanted her. How could she ever have thought she'd make it without him? How could she let herself become so dependent on him? On _him_? Had she thrown herself at him with an 'all is lost, help me find it'-attitude? No, that couldn't be—or could it? Fact was that the thought of losing herself in him was still terrifying—although she'd lost herself many times in him already, and then she'd only been able to find herself in him. She was torn. Maybe that was it. But she hadn't been torn when they'd made love. Countless times they'd made love, one time fading into the next, slowly and fast and gently and passionately. Their kisses had bordered on violence sometimes, desperate and hard as their mouths had crushed each other. Then they'd become gentle again, caressing and slow before growing more passionate again. It had been dizzying but in a delicious way, a sensory overload.

She could still feel him inside her body. She had no words for this. She was still quivering inside. Over and over, he'd taken her in the most intimate way; numerous times she'd given herself to him. Like dying had it felt, but at the same time it had been like being born. She had let herself fall into the abyss, and he had caught her just as he had promised. Time and time again. When she had fallen asleep—quite exhausted but closer to happiness than ever before, by the way—his arms safely around her, his heartbeat calming and lulling her, she had thought herself capable of flying—even when not in her Animagus form. She hadn't even feared her nightmares. Her overwhelmed mind had only provided one thought: He was there. He'd make them go away.

Had she expected it to be like this? She did not know. The only thing she knew for certain was that she ached for him to touch her again. No matter where, no matter how. A mere touch, a mere kiss…

She was tingling all over as if her thoughts had become countless pairs of hands and lips.

Sariss brushed her entangled hair. Fortunately, the brush was charmed so that it disentangled the strands and tresses without hurting. Yes, he had managed to dishevel and tousle her hair quite thoroughly, she thought with a smile. He loved her hair indeed but, unlike Sariss herself, apparently didn't think it the best part of her. That title seemed to belong to that spot on her throat—.

"Oops… Look at that!" Sariss said, looking at her reflection in the mirror—the mirror she'd stood in front of so often during the last days and had asked herself, "Is there even a soul in there?" Her reflection had stared back at her blankly. Now it didn't. Well, it stared but not blankly at all.

"Ooh! Now that's quite a bruise you have there!" Mirror-Sariss exclaimed, a look of astonishment and shock on her face. "Do you have a vampire under your bed, dear? This bruise looks suspiciously like a… a _bite_ to me…" It all but screeched the word 'bite'.

_So naïve… I was never like that, was I?_

**Well… Let's say you pretended to be naïve for quite some time. But maybe you were only shy—and a wimp.**

_That, I confess freely._

**Feeling much better, are you? It was about high time.**

_Well, he has a way with words…_

**_Words_****?**

_Yes! But also with his lips and hands and… I leave the rest to your naughtiest imaginations and fantasies._

**Which is totally unnecessary. I was there all the time. Lovely love bite by the way.**

_I know._

"That might be because it is indeed a bite," Sariss told her reflection brightly. "A love bite, to be more specific."

"Quite visible. And it looks rather painful, too…"

"Now that I think about it… It's throbbing a bit. But as it's not the only spot on my body that's throbbing—," she said, enjoying the sensation that rushed through her, as she remembered one of Severus's more… well… daring explorations (and then blushing at the memory of one of hers).

Her reflection looked scandalized. "Sariss! You've been a very, _very _naughty, little girl!"

"Yeah, right," Sariss muttered sarcastically. "Little. And to hear that from myself… But you're right. I was definitely naughty. As naughty as never before," she drawled, throwing a wicked and meaningful glance at the mirror.

Her reflection's mouth was a perfect 'O'. Its eyes were round, too.

"And I can hardly wait to be naughty again…"

**~*~*~**

A few minutes later, she re-entered the room, dressed in her usual black robe. Severus had also dressed in the meantime.

"And I thought the sun had already risen before you came back in. I was wrong," he said taking her hand and bringing it to his lips, using the opportunity to draw her near. "You look gorgeous." She gave a shy smile. "Not as gorgeous as you looked a few minutes ago, but the memory will have to be enough for now."

"Who are you and what have you done to the real Severus Snape?" Sariss breathed, her face only inches from his.

"Sent him off. Didn't like him very much anyway," he murmured into her ear.

She giggled. "Well, then I'll have to keep my declarations of undying admiration and devotion to myself…" She sighed exaggeratedly. "Too bad," she muttered mock-thoughtfully, as though he weren't listening. "You know, I think I'll miss him a bit. _I_ kind of liked him."

"You did?" he asked. He couldn't deny that it surprised him quite a bit.

"Very," she said huskily, "although he tends to be just a tiny little bit complicated and annoying sometimes—but also very insistent, I'll have to grant him that…"

Severus smirked.

"I think I actually liked _him_ for quite some time—unconsciously and with some interruptions, however," she added with a wink. "Since the day _he_ took me to Dumbledore's office and asked me if I was alright. When I was so scared of being expelled, I completely forgot to be afraid of _him_. And _he_ seemed genuinely concerned."

"The day you… cracked the ceiling, I remember. When we found out you could speak Parseltongue," he said. "I _was_ concerned. You wouldn't stop crying."

"Admit it, you found it terribly annoying."

He made a face. "Yes, I did. I don't do so well with emotional women."

"You do very well. But I was only a _girl_ for heaven's sake."

"You were seventeen! You were definitely a _woman_."

"So you noticed that back then?" she drawled lazily, her hands travelling around his waist onto his back.

"I'm not blind. I noticed many things—and I definitely notice it now," he answered, matching her tone of voice. That made her smile again. "And your crying was totally unnecessary, too."

"I know that now. Back then I thought I had caused the ultimate catastrophe…" For emphasis, she rolled her eyes as she said 'ultimate'. "Be that as it may—from that day on I wasn't scared of you anymore."

"I hadn't realized you were scared of me. Have I ever given you a reason to be afraid of me?" he asked softly, before he could stop himself. All too clearly, he remembered the look on her features when she had thought he'd crush her broken and dying body. And then there was the way she had looked at him later, in the DADA corridor… 'You're hurting me.' He could still hear her say it. An iron fist clenched around his heart. Ever since the day he had Portkeyed her into the infirmary that fist had been there, supposedly as a constant reminder of everything that had happened… A constant reminder of his crimes—as if he needed reminding. He didn't. Least of all when it concerned her.

But she dismissed his slip of the tongue, apparently not connecting it to those horrible events. He was grateful. It was better that way.

"Not really…" she said. "I mean… you… I don't know. I was a very small child and you were the Potions master! Are you even aware of the presence you have? How you make the atmosphere in a room change only by entering? It's intimidating, overwhelming, even more so because I can sense the overall atmosphere in a room…" She had a variation of the amazed look on her face that he had seen earlier that day—or rather, night. 

_Overwhelming. She actually thinks my presence is overwhelming._

**Overwhelming? You?**

_You heard her._

**You should get your—and my—ears tested.**

_My ears are perfectly fine._

"Not to the extent you just described it—Are you still?" He couldn't deny that he was flattered.

"What?"

"Overwhelmed by my presence."

"More than ever," she smiled, throwing her hair back over her shoulders, once again biting her lip only for the fraction of a second, but he found it incredibly alluring.

"What's that?" he asked, having seen something on a certain spot on her throat the moment her hair had moved away. He tilted her head to the side. "Goodness, did I do that?"

"What is it?" she asked innocently, her upward glance and the tone of her voice betraying her.

"Don't play the innocent one. You're not fooling me," he growled in mock-outrage.

"Really, Severus…" she said, her voice low and husky as she uttered his name in the very way only she could. She knew exactly what he was talking about!

"No way," he interrupted her; then he added thoughtfully, "I had no idea I caused a bruise quite like that."

"Commonly something like that is called a 'love bite.' Another first for me," Sariss said, running a fingertip over it and wincing a bit as she did so. "And bite me you did."

"You seemed to like it," Severus said sheepishly.

"I did. Very. Do you have a confession to make? Are there one or two vampires in your ancestry?" She applied a pensive and suspicious look to her face. "From a very long time ago, perhaps?"

"The rumour goes that one of my great-grandfathers was a direct descendant of Vlad Tepes, also known as Dracula. Only a rumour, nothing more."

"Really?"

"But, strangely, my Animagus form is a bat. Don't ask me why."

"There might just be a tiny grain of truth in that rumour then." She looked mildly amused but also slightly intrigued by the whole idea.

"I don't think so. Can't seem to like seeing any blood. Doesn't turn me on, so to speak."

"But you like using your teeth, don't you?" She bit her lip in just the way he found irresistible.

"On you? Any time. Only on you."

"Hmm…" She smiled. "You must be a natural. Vampire _ambitions_ or not."

"Can I take that as an explicit permission to do it again?" Severus asked, glancing at her, quite meaningfully.

"Permission granted. Gladly," she replied with a hungry look that must have been the exact replica of the one he had given her before. "Why did you bite me in the first place? You know, I'm curious."

"Because you taste so good. I couldn't resist," he said, pulling her head back to bestow a set of kisses on her throat and along her collarbone, his teeth grazing lightly over her skin.

A moan escaped her lips and she weakly pushed him away, swaying and gasping, "Keep this up and you can forget breakfast and lunch and—."

"Stupid idea to make you eat breakfast now that I think of it."

"You're not serious."

"But I could be."

"Yes, you could, but you're far too sensible to be serious now."

"Am I?"

"Sure you are. As well as I am myself. Imagine me losing all those curves you seem so awfully fond of…" she purred. As if for emphasis, she moved to press her body against his again, her hips making but a small barely noticeable movement that was, however, quite enough to cause Severus to suck in a sharp breath.

**Wench.**

_Oh yes, she is._

"Now that you mention it…" He rested his hands on her hips to keep her from doing it again. He'd ravish her on the floor otherwise.

**She probably wouldn't mind.**

"So you see my point?"

"When you put it that way…"

"Don't give me that look. You'll have plenty of opportunities to renew the purplish spot on my throat—if you want to," she said, standing on tiptoes and brushing a little kiss over his lips. "And if I get really naughty I might present you with one, too—if you want me to."

"Revenge is sweet, isn't it?"

"In that case it certainly is…" she trailed off. "Although I'd have to carefully determine which spot on you it would be."

"I advise you to check twice. Only to make sure you get the right one."

"If you'd like that."

"I'm already looking forward to it."

"Um… Tell me something… Er…" She hesitated, squirming under his gaze. "Did you… Did you…"

"Did I what?"

"Like it? The way I… you know… Was I too… erm…"

He couldn't help chuckling as she said this.

"I knew you'd laugh at me," she said. 

"I'm not. I was just wondering that it could possibly have escaped you how much I liked roundabout everything you did."

"You did?" she asked shyly. Her cheeks were getting pinker by the second.

"Yes. Did you?"

"If you can't tell… Are you sure it was you who was with me?"

"Fairly sure, I think."

"Then I don't think I have to tell you, do I?"

"Actually, I'd like to hear it," he growled into her ear. It made her shiver. "The detailed edition. The adult version."

She blushed a deep crimson. Such innocence! After such a night, how could you still be so innocent?

"I'd actually like you to," she began hesitantly, "to… do some of those… er… naughty _things_ again."

"I guess that was a yes." He couldn't help grinning mischievously.

She, too, grinned, although a bit embarrassedly. Then she said teasingly, "However could you tell that was a yes?"

Severus applied a thoughtful expression to his face before he replied, "Just a wild stab in the dark." It made her giggle. "So… Are you finished? I just found out that I'm fairly hungry."

"Must we?"

"Yes. You said it yourself."

"Could you… Would you…"

"Yes?"

"Can I have another kiss before we go? There?" she indicated his love bite.

"Not trying to seduce me, are you?"

"Would you like that?"

"Who wouldn't like being seduced by you?" he said before he did as she'd requested.

"Mmm…" she said dreamily when he drew back. "Can I sign up for this? Can I have it regularly?"

**Not so innocent after all, huh?**

"Any time. You can wake me up at three in the morning and I won't even be mad at you."

"Good to know," she said and once more ran her finger over the mark Severus had left on her.

"Aren't you going to do something about it, cover it up, conceal it—," Severus began, indicating the bruise right above her collarbone that was quite visible when she had her hair pushed back behind her shoulders.

"I'm not going to hide the telltale signs of your misdeeds," she grinned as she pulled her hair up, twirled it a bit and then fastened it with a flick of her wand. (He had realized that she used her wand quite often although she had no need of it.) Her hair was now a work of artful and deliberate dark-brown disarray with all those loose tendrils brushing seductively over her skin, Severus observed. He could hardly wait to undo it again, bury his face in it, inhaling its scent, its softness… Everything about her was so soft, so very tender and pliant—if she wanted it to be that way.

This was going to be a very long day… But then again, there were no lessons…

**~*~*~**

Sariss fastened her hair. Then she turned back to Severus. "Alright then. I'm ready. Let's go before I lose my nerve. Oh, and stop looking at me as though I were a piece of cake with cream and chocolate icing. It makes me remember what I said and did and I'll be blushing furiously when we're at breakfast."

"Make me."

"You wish," she countered with a wink and opened the door. Throwing a glance over her shoulder she asked, "You coming or not?"

"No need to be so hasty all of a sudden…" he muttered, nonetheless following her, closing the door behind him and casting a Locking Spell. _How thoughtful_, Sariss noticed. _Who would have thought any of this when looking at Severus Snape under different—more normal—circumstances?_ Strangely, to her, these were normal circumstances now.

Goodness, she felt so weird. Her mind was totally jumbled. All she could think of was in one way or the other connected with him. She suddenly wanted to head back into her rooms, her bedroom—with him—and repeat everything they'd done there. There had been no worries and no fears, no memories and no thoughts about the future. Only the moment had counted. And to know that she hadn't messed it up. To know that he'd liked what she'd done—and she'd been so nervous when it occurred to her that the possibility was there for him not to have liked some things as much as she had—and she had been drowning in his caresses. But the way it was… Well, it seemed that it just worked effortlessly between the two of them. It must be that certain spark people were always talking about. It simply was there. It must always have been there.

But instead of returning into Sariss's chambers, they headed along the corridors and down the stairs into the Entrance Hall, when she suddenly felt a twinge of panic—_déjà-vu… _It was as if she were back in the Hogwarts of more than ten years ago. She had so dreaded walking back in there after the Parseltongue discovery… "Severus." Sariss stood, grabbing hold of his sleeve. She seemed unable to breathe properly. "I… I don't think I can do this, after all…"

"There's nothing to fear, remember? No Malfoy gang, no Death Eaters, no Slytherins at all." It was as though he knew that the obvious reason wasn't the only one. "Most of the remaining students have no idea what really happened to you—unless the Death Eater offspring spilt the beans. But as far as I can tell, they haven't told the whole story. So there's no need to be scared now. They're only students. You're the powerful one in there, you know, the most powerful witch Hogwarts has seen since the time of the founders," Severus said, looking into her eyes with those glinting black eyes of his that kept reminding her of dark tunnels; those eyes that were still harbouring so many secrets in their depths…

"You said 'Most of the students.' Who does know?"

"Potter, for one. He had something like a firsthand experience of what happened."

"But—how?"

"Dreams. He tends to have dreams—or rather nightmares—when the Dark Lord is… up to something particularly vicious."

"Oh dear, poor boy," she muttered. _So the boy was actually there…_ "Who else?"

"His friends. I would think he told them."

He must have seen the look on her face, since he quickly added, "But there's nothing to fear from them all, really. I may not be very fond of them but I couldn't accuse them of being tactless or insensitive when it comes to important matters."

"And you think I'm an important matter?"

He brought his fingers to her chin and tilted her head up, although this was not necessary at all—she already looked him in the eyes. "To me, there's nothing more important than you," he said, taking her hand.

What? Did he actually intend to walk in there openly showing that he and she… She was surprised. Pleasantly. She would never have expected this. He had always been hiding and now he wanted to just walk in there actually holding her hand? In front of the—if only few—students?

He must have noticed her puzzlement, for he gave her that smirking, amused look that had always made her smile and added mock-scowlingly, "What? If you can openly wear this 'corpus delicti of my affection', I might just as well nip all possible speculations in the bud. Why encourage a rumour when the truth will shock them quite sufficiently?"

Sariss stared. Somehow, now that they both knew—or at least were aware of—the greater part of each other's secrets and past, it seemed that even things that had nothing to do with both of those were being discussed more easily. It would be foolish to think that there were no more secrets. Sariss kept a few. Why shouldn't Severus, too, keep parts of his life private? She wouldn't begrudge him that. Some things needn't be spoken about. Some ghosts of the past or present or future were better kept locked up inside one's own mind. Some things were not to be shared, as they'd only cause pain.

What were the secrets that Sariss kept? One of them was that she'd recently found out something about the ingredients of the potion she'd been administered. She might tell Severus about it someday, see what he thought. It had been a stab in the dark, but there was no doubt that there must have been some unicorn blood in the potion to ensure that her little body survived the change no matter what. It also explained why it sometimes seemed so hard to go on living at all. Someone who slew something as pure as a unicorn to drink its blood was damned to a half-life. But did it count nothing that it had been forced into her? Apparently not.

Did Dumbledore know about that? Had Severus found out? Had they found it out and hadn't told her to protect her? Sariss needn't know. It wouldn't change anything if she knew the answer to those questions.

"You all right?" Severus's voice said. He sounded worried. Of course. She hadn't smiled when he had been funny in that subtle way that was his kind of humour.

"Yes," she smiled, even though it hurt at the moment. _Actually no, but I'll pretend best as I can._

**Silly thing, why?**

_Because I can't have him or Dumbledore or anyone else hover over me like vultures, that's why._

**_Vultures_****? They're protecting you, for heaven's sake! They're trying to help you. Look at Severus. He can tell your smile's a fake and your answer was a lie.**

Sariss found she couldn't meet his gaze. Mere minutes ago, she had been fine and now she felt like drowning. Her thoughts were a whirlwind. She wanted to scream, 'NO! I'M NOT ALL RIGHT! I'LL NEVER BE! WHY IS IT THAT EVERYTHING AND EVERYBODY SEEMS TO BE ASKING ME THAT STUPID QUESTION WHEN—'

Severus's lips were touching her forehead. She couldn't even bring herself to appreciate it as much as she would have liked to. Her body seemed to be frozen and numb. She didn't even have tears. Usually they came when she felt like this, unbidden. She found she felt too empty even for crying.

"Oh dear," Severus sighed and stroked her cheek. 

It was as if Sariss was watching herself and him. She had no incentive to react to him; there was no motivation. 

"When I ask you if you're all right, don't say 'yes' when you can't make it sound convincing. Please say something." He took her face in his hands. 

Sariss couldn't think of anything to say. 

He kissed her very gently on the lips. A light seemed to snap on in her mind, startling her out of her petrifaction. It was not the kiss that brought her wandering mind back to reality. It was something else. His emotions opened before her like a flower. She found she was more like the Sariss she knew she was again when she sensed herself through him. Her arms rose out of their own volition to enable her hands to hold onto him. Somehow, she needed him to hold on to. Physically and psychically alike.

"You all right?" Severus asked again.

"Ye—No, but I'm working on it," Sariss heard herself say.

"Then come."

"I don't think I can."

"They've been waiting for you for weeks. Just like me. They do want to see you. Dumbledore has been very concerned. And you do realize that you left Hagrid even more heartbroken than me when you refused to see anyone, don't you?"

"It's not fair. Now you're making me feel bad," Sariss said. "And stupid."

"And cowardly?" he suggested.

"Yes. And I hate that."

"Good."

"What? What are you playing at? Has the Severus Snape you sent off come back with a vengeance or what?"

"Apparently, the one that finds you irresistible can't handle you without the one that thinks you're the most annoying person in the world."

"You're such a—."

"Yes, tell me what I am," he challenged. "Let's continue in this manner for another few minutes and you'll be angry enough not to care about anything else."

Sariss was dazed. "You're…" she began half-heartedly.

"Yes?" He sounded amused. "What am I? Severus Snape, _sexy _Slytherin at your service."

"I never said that."

"You did. It was kind of muffled, but you did say that."

Sariss felt the blood shoot into her cheeks. "You're evil, you know that?"

"Believe me, I heard you say it. And I could hardly believe it myself."

"Then don't. You imagined it."

"No. You said it twice."

"You're keeping tabs—Can't think what could ever make me say that."

"I can," he said suggestively.

Sariss buried her face in her hands. "I'm so fed up with you. Fine! There you have it! I give up! And if it kills me, I'm going in there now—just to be able to see someone who's not wearing a self-satisfied smirk for a change."

"That would be a point for me."

"You're still as obnoxious as you've always been. Can't seem to be able to remember what I was thinking when I decided that it wouldn't be a bad idea to consider ever being with you."

"You'll change your mind about that as soon as you feel the urge to dig your fingers into my strong and oh so _sexy_ back and all that. You know, I have a few fairly deep scratches on said _sexy_ back. All over it. I don't think I'll be able to sleep on said _sexy_ back—"

"It wasn't exactly your back—."

"Do enlighten me." He had the wickedest grin on his face that Sariss had ever seen in all her life.

"It was a bit lower than that and I'm fairly sure that I was sufficiently… _moderate_."

"Hmm. Yes, maybe."

"Maybe?"

"Fine, you were moderate enough. But you said it. Come to think of it, you said many things that I'd file under _compromising_—if only I could remember them… I think I'll have to be more attentive on that sector."

Sariss's face must have been glowing bright pink. "Will you ever let me hear the end of something I now entirely refuse to remember because of its apparently vast entertainment value?"

"No."

"That's what I expected. Oh joy."

"You'll have to bear with me. I'm villainous."

"Oh, yes, you are indeed—" He wasn't even blushing while her face must be glowing scarlet already. "—although you're a villain with a very se—_cute_ backside. So there you have it."

"Why, for a man my age it's very flattering to be told that—especially from someone who's taken stock so expertly."

"Who taught you that?"

"What? Quick remarks or—." He stooped for a moment to whisper into her ear, before he continued, "—how to make love to a woman in a way that makes her flatter my skills exceedingly?"

She tried to give him an exasperated glance, but found herself unable to do so because she had to laugh. "If you ask me like that… both?"

"Fine. Firstly, I've built up the reputation of being a natural at being sarcastic. That requires quick repartees. And secondly… tricky question, you know that?"

"I can sense that. But I can help you there. I was not your first."

"Right. You weren't. But I wish you were. By the way, who taught you?"

"You did. Last night, remember? Why?" Now Sariss was amused.

"A gentleman does not speak about that where he could be overheard. But as a matter of fact, I must say that you appear to be a very fast learner. So fast that you seem to have made your teacher ambitious."

"How many house points do I earn, _Professor_?" she whispered. If he could be wicked, so could she. After all, she was already blushing furiously. No change there. She might as well speak what her somewhat depraved mind provided her with.

"Millions," he replied. "And a detention that I ask you to serve tonight. _Miss_ Ravon, my office, seven-thirty tonight."

"You _ask_ me to serve detention, my dearest Professor?"

"Do you want me to request them instead?"

"Not necessary. I might be begging you for one soon—although I don't think it should be called detention."

"Would you prefer to call it an appointment—although I do not fully understand what might be qualifying you to change the expression for a punishment for misbehaviour, _Miss_ Ravon?"

"You're right. I've been told I've been very naughty last night. I should be serving detention with you. But there's a problem."

"I don't think so."

"Oh yes, there is. Serving detention would mean being naughty again, Professor Snape, and then I'd be serving detention again and again and again…" She snaked her arms around his waist and slowly bit her lip, throwing him a mock-thoughtful glance.

"What a vicious circle—," he said and bent down to kiss her neck. His lips moved over her skin as he continued, "You know, you could have been quite a Lolita if you'd been like that ten years ago. You'd have gotten us both in big trouble. But the imagination is strangely appealing. Not to mention exciting."

**Lolita? That's a very naughty kind of compliment.**

_I agree. He shouldn't be allowed to say those things and sound so sexy when he's not in my bedroom._

**I suppose his thoughts might just equal yours.**

"Let's go back up."

"No. I may be a man—"

"You are."

"—and consequently easily to influence by such proposals—"

"Oh, _that_ kind of man…"

"Sariss, would you stop interrupting me?"

"I'm just starting to practise quick repartees. Fast learner, you know?"

"Anyway, I insist on you going in there and have breakfast. The longer you wait, the harder it will become."

"Yes, sir, Professor Snape," she found she sounded as Lolita-like as ever possible. He seemed to agree—and approve.

"Wench. I take it you're not frightened of facing a bunch of students anymore, are you?"

"You make it sound so stupid of me."

"I only want to help you. All right, to be honest, I do not _only_ want to help you. It works, doesn't it?"

"Well…" Yes, indeed, Sariss hadn't even noticed, but she had been so concentrated on what he had been saying and doing—and being amused and annoyed at him—that she'd forgotten to worry. She was stunned. "I'm actually feeling a bit better. Stupid but better—you creep. Sexy, my foot." She actually had to grin. She could hardly believe that he'd actually managed to take her mind off things.

"Another point for me. I'm scoring quite a lot today. Oh, and another detention for you."

"Why?"

"You called me a creep and you cursed. Let's make that two detentions."

"I'm so sorry, _Professor_. Not at all."

"Insolent little wench," he growled teasingly. His voice was an invisible caress when he spoke like that. "If you go on like that, I'll soon have given you so many detentions that it'll be a real punishment for _both_ of us to have you serve them."

Having said that, he quickly brushed his lips over hers—too quickly, but it would have to be enough for now—and smiled the very smile that seemed to make the sun shine in her heart for a millennium, especially since it was so rare. It was not a grin, nor was it a sneer. It wasn't even a happy smile, but it wasn't sad either. It was something in-between. But even though, or rather _because_ it couldn't be properly defined as one or the other, it made her feel special that it was directed at her, made her feel stronger again. Stronger from the inside, as though she could do anything she wished to—or must—do. She had a feeling she needed as much inner strength as she could get. Soon.

He laced his fingers with hers and then he pushed open the doors that led into the Great Hall.

**~*~*~**

Harry had gotten up early this morning because he'd wanted to do a bit of broomstick practice. Ron had woken up as he'd dressed and announced he'd join him. They could even do a bit of Keeper practice that way, although Harry thought Ron was good enough as it was. He didn't need any additional practice. However, he had not been one to object. Everything was always more fun when Ron was there, too. Well, almost everything…

After almost two hours of flying, a bit of practice and lots of joking, they mutely agreed to declare the flying session ended and made their way back towards the castle. The prospect of having a really big breakfast seemed to accelerate Ron's pace in particular, though Harry would have lied if he'd said he wasn't hungry, too.

As they entered the Great Hall, most of the students who were staying over the holidays were already assembled. No Slytherins. There were only few students staying this year. Much less than any year before this one; Harry had already noticed that the previous day. In Harry's first few years, almost everyone had stayed over the Easter holidays. But during the last few years, the number of students who went home had drastically increased. Why that was so, Harry didn't know. Weren't they safer at Hogwarts than anywhere else?

However, the people who were there were the really important ones. Harry's best friends—Ron, Hermione and Ginny, the light of his life.

"Good morning, Harry," Hermione said. "Hi, Ron."

"Good morning, Hermione, Gin."

"Up so early, Harry?" Ginny greeted him with a little peck on his cheek, as he sat down next to her.

"Yeah," Harry said, returning the kiss. "I felt like flying a bit."

"Thought you did," Ginny smiled. She knew exactly how much Harry liked the feeling of freedom he experienced when he was flying on a broomstick.

"Don't even bother wishing your brother a good morning," Ron said teasingly. "I always knew I had no chance against the great Harry Potter."

"Don't go that way, Mr Weasley. You could do with taking a leaf out of Harry's book and pay your girlfriend the attention she deserves," Hermione spoke up, throwing a glance at Ron and raising her eyebrows at him.

"What? Oh… Right!" he exclaimed, having finally caught on. An apologetic smile on his face he bent down to kiss her. "Do you forgive me?"

Hermione seemed to ponder this. He gave her another kiss. "Well, alright," she said as soon as he'd pulled back, "but only on one condition…"

"What is it? I'll do _everything_," he answered in an exaggeratedly desperate voice, spreading his arms for emphasis. Harry snorted. Ginny sniggered and buried her face in his shoulder.

Hermione smiled mischievously, raising her eyebrows. "I'll tell you later…"

Harry shook his head, still grinning, and began piling some pancakes on his plate and Ginny's. Ron and Hermione kept flirting with each other until suddenly Ron looked past Harry with wide eyes.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked as Hermione mimicked Ron's gesture. He had just jerked his head in direction of the doorway.

"Professor Ravon is back," they whispered.

**~*~*~**

Sariss held Severus's hand firmly as the two of them entered the Great Hall. She felt as though every pair of eyes was looking at her, examining her, boring into her. And indeed, all twelve assembled people were staring at her quite openly, five teachers and seven students. Only seven students. So very few.

She tried not to make eye contact with any one of them as Severus gently guided her towards the empty seat next to Dumbledore. The headmaster had jumped to his feet at their entrance and now stepped towards her and took her hand. "Sariss, my dear, I am glad that you're feeling better. And I'm equally glad at the fact that you have decided to join us for breakfast again. Perhaps we will also have the honour of your gracious presence at lunch and dinner?"

Sariss nodded, feeling a bit uncomfortable at the multitude of emotions that whirled through the room, but there wasn't anything vindictive. And if there was, it was completely overlapped by surprise and relief.

"Severus must have been much more _convincing_ than you were, Albus," Professor McGonagall said with an undertone, the corners of her mouth twitching—but Sariss might as well just have imagined it.

"Ahem… yes, well, he was… quite… er… convincing. Very convincing lecture," she stuttered, in vain willing her voice to sound firm and trying as hard as possible to prevent her face from going crimson.

Hagrid pulled her into a hug, almost suffocating her as he did so, before she could do anything about it. "If yeh find the time yeh could tell me how exactly he managed tha'…"

"Hagrid!" Sariss pushed him away, feeling that she was blushing all over if that was possible at all. "This is…" She was at a loss for words.

Hagrid was grinning as broadly as ever, although he wiped away a large tear that was running down into his beard and then sniffed and blew his nose on a tablecloth-sized handkerchief.

Dumbledore, too, grinned behind his beard. McGonagall fought bravely to keep her face straight. Professor Sprout sniggered. So did tiny little Flitwick. And even Severus wasn't of great help. He seemed highly amused at the situation _he_ had put her into… More amused than embarrassed. Admittedly, she wasn't blameless either but Severus definitely looked too smug about his being 'convincing.'

Sariss heaved a sigh.

"You people," she said resignedly, scowling at Severus for a second (she couldn't keep it up longer; it felt too good to be so welcome after everything that had happened…) "I wasn't prepared for you to be like—_this_. You're much worse than I could ever have expected! Different worse, but worse nonetheless. Worse than children you are—and you call yourselves staff members! And you, too." She tried to glower at Severus. "You're such a child."

This wasn't helping at all. He still had this latent grin on his face. So Sariss finally gave up and settled for, "If you'd please be so kind as to simply ignore me? I haven't been eating very much for quite some time and… well… the only reason I'm still here at all is that I'm hungry and could eat a Hippogriff. So just ignore my stuffing food into my face, alright?"

As she finally sat down—Severus had pulled back the chair for her to sit down; _like a true gentleman_, she thought, smiling slightly—she could see the students whispering among themselves.

_Great. Gossip._

**Just wait until term begins…**

_They really should raise my salary for providing the entertainment._

**What the hell, they'll find something new soon.**

_Wasn't there a Quidditch match scheduled to be played on the last weekend in April?_

**Yes, I think so.**

_Good. Now… Bacon and eggs or fruit salad or toast…_

**Why not a bit—or perhaps a bit more—of everything?**

**~*~*~**

Harry exchanged some glances with his friends and the other students.

"Is something wrong with my eyes or are they actually holding hands?" Ron asked horror-struck.

"As far as I can tell they—."

"Oh, my god! Don't tell me you saw it, too," Ginny whispered.

Hermione grinned. "So it wasn't just a figment of my imagination?"

"Definitely not."

"Excuse me," Harry interrupted. "What is definitely not a figment of Hermione's imagination?"

"Clean your glasses and look closely. Professor Ravon has a bruise on her throat that looks suspiciously like a love bite—and I should know what they look like."

Ron looked even more horror-struck, as Ginny said this. Obviously, he was speechless.

A broad grin was on Hermione's face as she watched a blushing Professor Ravon be almost suffocated by a hug of Hagrid's.

"For the record," Ginny stated brightly. "There is _definitely_ something between Ravon and Snape. Oh, the possibilities…"

She suddenly reminded Harry very much of the twins, her brothers Fred and George—or occasionally: Gred and Forge.

Ron buried his head in his hands for a long moment and heaved a deep sigh, shaking his head.

"I was right," Hermione said in a singsong voice and extended a hand towards Ron, who looked up at that. "Hand it over."

Ron rummaged around in his pockets, pulling out some coins here and there and counting the knut-and-sickle-equivalent of a galleon on the table. "Harry?"

"What's up?" Harry asked, strangely feeling very much better now that everything in the school seemed to be back to normal again.

"From now on it's your job to remind me to not ever again have a bet with my greedy girlfriend."

"And for that matter, you could actually do this for all the redheads in here," Ginny grinned at him. "That makes you feel quite important, doesn't it?"

Harry laughed and nodded while Hermione tsked and made a face at Ron, which made Harry laugh even harder.

"It's not that you, Ronald Weasley, wouldn't get anything out of the deal. The thought has just crossed my mind that I could invite you three to a Butterbeer the next time we visit Hogsmeade. My newfound riches would enable me to do so."

"You just reminded me of one of the reasons why I love you so much."

"If there is a next time," Harry threw in. "Unless they put some wards up it's unlikely that we'll be allowed to go there."

Ron made a cough that sounded suspiciously like "One-eyed witch," which caused Harry to roll his eyes. He had not forgotten the trouble he had gotten himself into when he had used the tunnel to Hogsmeade the last time. He had been caught by Snape, of all people!

Harry shrugged. Snape would be otherwise occupied—a thought that didn't make him shudder with disgust so much anymore. Perhaps he had gotten used to the idea that Snape might not be _that_ bad after all…

_I'm getting soft_, he chuckled to himself.

"Alright then, but we'll not risk being seen outside Honeydukes. For once, we'll at least partly obey and not go out into Hogsmeade, but stay inside Honeydukes. That way we can at least get some goodies."

Everyone agreed to that, although Ron sounded a bit forced. No Zonko's. But it was better than nothing, wasn't it? And thus, they decided to go through the tunnel whenever the opportunity presented itself, keeping up a steady supply of chocolate and other sweets in their dormitories.

**Next chapter:**

Severus wants Sariss to trouble him, too much to do and too little time, naughty things, an interruption—and Severus asks Sariss to talk about what happened.


	26. No More Be Grieved

**Author's note: **Thanks go to Metieth, only one of the great people I've met at VH. Now… Does nobody else read this anymore?****

Chapter 25: No More be Grieved

**_No more be grieved at that which thou hast done:  
Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud;  
Clouds and eclipses stain both moon and sun,   
And loathsome canker lives in sweetest bud.   
All men make faults, and even I in this,   
Authorizing thy trespass with compare,   
Myself corrupting, salving thy amiss,   
Excusing thy sins more than thy sins are;_****__**

_—Excerpt from William Shakespeare: Sonnet No. 35_

Severus woke up. He had no idea why he did, until he heard a very small stifled sob. He turned his head to where Sariss was lying. She had turned her back to him and curled up in a small ball as though she wanted to disappear in her long silken nightgown.

"Sariss. What's up, love?" he asked softly, placing a hand on her shoulder. Her skin was awfully cold. Even if this hadn't been her usual state, the—at least in her standards—quite flimsy nightgown couldn't have protected her, as the fire had burnt down.

"Don't do this."

"Don't do what?"

"Try to soothe me. You can't, Severus. No one can. Not even you. I'll just wait until I fall asleep again," she replied. It was obvious that she tried to give her voice a tinge that made it more steady-sounding than it actually was.

"Sariss," he said. "Come here. You're cold."

"I always am," she said wearily.

He gently put his arms around her and rolled her over so that she faced him. She must have been crying for quite some time. Her face was so wet with tears; it looked like she had walked through a thunderstorm. The silvery moonlight that fell on her face made her skin look almost translucent; she looked like a porcelain doll with her puffy eyes closed, the long black lashes heavy and soaked with tears.

Severus gently ran his thumb over her cheek, wiping her tears away. The gesture was all too familiar by now. He couldn't remember how often he'd done that already.

"Severus…"

"Shh." He pulled her against him, drew the blankets up around her and hugged her tightly.

"I'm a mess. I've always been. I wonder why you even put up with me…"

"I could ask you the same," Severus replied softly. "But there's something else I'd like to know."

She raised her head and looked up at him; large tears rolling down her face and dropping to his chest like hot salty rain. It was a strange thing that, when her body was so very cold, her tears could be so hot…

"What?" she whispered.

"Tell me why you're crying, really. Answer me, an honest answer."

She gave a mirthless laugh. "How can I answer to questions when I don't know the answer myself… It must have something to do with… what I am. I can hardly remember when it was not so that I cried myself to sleep every other night."

Severus noted that there came no more fresh tears as she said this. "What did you do when there was no one there—?"

"You mean roundabout every other night before this one?" she interrupted him.

He nodded, brushing a strand of her hair behind her ear and tenderly stroking her cheek.

She took a deep breath and sighed heavily. "I cried until I fell asleep and I slept until I woke up crying—or screaming," she said softly, a look in her eyes that was so full of sadness and utter loneliness that it almost broke his heart that he could never make it vanish completely.

She had been hiding a great part of her from him even now that they were… lovers, friends, soul mates… None of those words completely applied to them. He did not know a word to describe what exactly it was they were; only that they were close, closer than he had ever thought possible, physically as well as emotionally. So close that 'love' could only describe a fraction of what they had. And it didn't matter. They were both here; that was all that mattered.

No one would ever have thought that she felt like that when looking at her, as she rushed through the corridors, told off the students, attended meals in the Great Hall, smiling slightly when being spoken to… A very talented actress she'd make. How could he ever have thought that he _knew_ her? Even after all those years he had taught her, he had not really known what it was that made her exactly what she was like. He of all people should have known better than to think he could ever have really known her when she had decided not to let him. She was good at hiding her feelings. As good as he was… But not any longer. That applied to both of them.

"I'm sorry, Sariss," he said softly.

"I thought we were through with apologizing for things that cannot be changed." She rested her head on his chest again, her forehead lightly touching his chin.

"Strange how sometimes my life seems to consist entirely of regrets, missed chances and wrong choices…" he whispered, chancing a look at the Dark Mark that was ghastly clear in the silvery moonlight. He suddenly longed for the darkness of his own chambers…

"At least you made your own choices—"

"I'm sorry, Sariss," he said again. "It's my fault. If not completely than at least partially—."

"Severus," she moaned, a quite exasperated touch to her voice. "Stop saying this. Stop speaking entirely if you can't. This conversation is totally useless except for the fact that it makes us both feel more miserable by every word that's spoken." She pressed her lips against his throat and snuggled into him. Her tears had subsided.

"I can never apologize enough—," he said after a while.

"Severus," she spoke quietly but sharply. "I have already told you that I forgive you for whatever it was exactly that you did for him. I don't even want to know. I hold nothing against you! Why can't you just let go of the past? I have. Why can't you?"

"No, you haven't. You couldn't, because it's constantly there. And I can't either. No matter, if I look at you or at myself in the mirror. It's there all the time like the Dark Mark—."

"Is that your weird way of telling me that you put up with me because you feel _guilty_?"

Not even waiting for his reply, she sat up, quickly grabbed one of the blankets, wrapped it around her body and was out of the room in a split second.

Severus could hear her sit down in the study, the soft rustling of the satin bedspread. In her haste, she hadn't grabbed one of the warmer ones…

The fireplace grumbled softly and flipped over. The scarcely burning fire would accompany her in the study.

He sighed heavily. It was a sigh born out of irritation, anger, perhaps even fury at the fact that this woman was so… so very unstable, moody, temperamental, complicated and who knew what other words could also be applied to her… Why did this woman always leap to conclusions? Why this sudden change of mood? But he knew the answer to at least the latter one of these questions all too well… And thus he once again felt the all too familiar tug of guilt and regrets that she didn't want to hear about anymore because it reminded her too much of her own constantly more or less present sorrow and misery…

Severus, too, grabbed and wrapped one of the remaining blankets around himself and followed her into the study.

The fire was burning again; the merrily flickering flames were throwing dancing shadows on the shelves, the desk, the sofa—and the figure wrapped in a white bedspread, sitting slumped in the armchair by the fireplace, knees drawn up, clutching her improvised garment as tightly as she had clutched the windowsill only three days ago. Was it merely three days? It felt longer. She was staring into the fire—unblinking, as though it held the answers to every question that could ever be asked. Like a ghost she looked. Almost no contrast between the colour of her skin and that of the bedspread. She did not look away from the fire when he entered.

"Sariss, love, talk to me. Scream at me. Throw something… But tell me what you think, what you—." He could bear anything, screams, accusations—anything… but not silence. He had only recently found out that this was exactly the one thing he could not bear when with her: Words hanging in the air between them like clouds of smoke; words left unspoken…

"Do you have any idea about how I feel? Do you even care?" she asked softly, yet not in a tone one would ask a question with. It was more like… he had no idea… less than a statement it was, but not remotely intoned like a question. As if she had been thinking those words, and he had heard them not spoken but thought. But he had heard them; and he had also perceived the sadness and weariness in them.

"No, I don't—I mean, yes—Yes and no. Yes, I care and no, I don't have any idea about how you feel most of the time, for the sole reason that you stubbornly refuse to tell me!" he said, his voice sounding louder to him than he had actually intended. His anger at her hadn't vanished completely, yet. "You don't want to be a burden. Fine, I got that! And you aren't. Yet. But if you don't want to trouble me, which I want you to—"

"I—"

"Let me finish. If you go on like this, you'll become a burden anyway—and a much heavier one at that. Allow yourself to be my burden now, if you want to use that term. Be my concern. Don't be the victim, be the volunteer. Be it willingly. Not because I want it, but because you do." He'd sat down in the other armchair, while he'd spoken.

"You actually care?" she said, tears in her voice yet not on her cheeks.

"Sariss…" he sighed. "I do care. Somehow I believe I've always cared… I just didn't know it. Why can't you believe me this? Talk to me. There's nothing you can't tell me. I'm here for you. You do trust me, don't you?"

"Alright." She sniffed. "Here it comes then, if you really want to hear it—even though I doubt you'll understand…"

Severus said nothing. He only nodded.

She cleared her throat and swallowed. "I'm constantly walking a fine line between reason and madness. I am almost constantly fighting back tears or the urge to release the power that's inside me to hurt or destroy things, people…" she whispered. "It's so bad that I've become used to it. Most of the time I don't even notice it because it's simply always there. It's like cancer… Rarely it happens that the people around me have enough positive feelings in them to make me feel good, too. And when I'm with you it's much worse than with anyone else—."

"Sariss—."

"I'm not finished!" she said harshly, jumping to her feet and starting to pace. "Severus," she continued much more quietly, "when I'm with you, it's heaven and hell at the same time. Sometimes you manage to take my mind off it all. On other occasions, it's coming back violently. I think I'm going insane. Sometimes I don't know the difference between your emotions and mine anymore. I can't tell them apart anymore. Sometimes I think I don't have any myself. Oh, gods, why haven't I fought against all of this more strongly…"

"Are you trying to tell me you want to… I don't know… sort of… break up with me? Does my presence—despite everything—bother you so much?" he asked incredulously. He had done everything in his power to make her… feel better, make her smile, make her feel warm, accepted, needed, loved…

"No, that's not it. I knew you'd get it wrong." She shook her head. The light of the fire played beautifully on her features and softened them. She stopped pacing, rested her head in her hands and started to massage her temples, taking deep calming breaths, rocking back and forth, with her back turned towards Severus. "When you're near me, I'm torn in two; I'm losing myself. I'm falling into you. When you're not near, it's… empty, nothing. I feel empty, hollow, like an echo of myself… Not really there. I never realized that before… Even though it hurts, too, it's sometimes easier to take. Pretend to not be there at all."

He said nothing. He only sat there—resisting the urge to get up, embrace her tightly and say that he also knew what being torn felt like—and watched her as she walked back towards the armchair and once again slumped into it, her hand covering her eyes.

After a while, Sariss looked up at him. "See? If I can't put it in words clearly enough to not be misunderstood, how could you, Severus, ever understand me?" She looked away again and continued to speak as though she were talking to herself. "How could anyone ever really know what it's like being what I am… being something that only exists once… something that…"

Severus approached her as she spoke and said, "Listen to yourself. You still regard yourself as _something_, not as _someone_. You _are_ someone…" He slowly lowered himself to one knee so he was at the same level with her. "And if you were nothing to everyone else, to me you are the most important thing—_being_," he quickly corrected himself. Words could be so misleading sometimes, especially when with her, "that has ever walked the surface of this planet." 

_Because you made me break and then made me whole_.

**But _he_ broke her. Can you make her whole? You know she isn't.**

_I'm trying. I'm doing all I can._

She was successfully fighting back tears and swallowed. Taking a deep breath, she regained her composure, and glancing at him with a look in her eyes that gave nothing away of what she must be feeling like, she began slowly and firmly, "Forgive me my outburst, Severus. I know what I'm doing to you when I'm acting like this… Believe me, I know. It hurts me, too. Just like it hurts you. It won't happen again. You won't see me like this anymore. I won't let you catch me in a situation like this again. I'll just leave the room instead. I promise, I'll compose myself. I—." Her initial firmness had all too soon dissolved into the shaking voice he knew quite well by now.

"Sariss, I… Please, don't hide from me." He took her hands and brought them to his lips. She let him, closing her eyes, not putting up any resistance at all—and he kissed the back of her hands, her knuckles, her palms, her wrists, her pulse. 

"Severus, don't you realize that your eyes are deceiving you? I am not what you see. You simply can't want to be with an illusion. I am not what I seem to be. I've been—"

"I know what you are. And I like being with you," he said. "I want to be here. I wouldn't want to be anywhere else in the world."

"No, you don't. You couldn't. You don't know me. I am—"

"I know what you are," he interrupted her. "You've got an unusually strong personality, which regards every avowal of needing something or asking for it as horrifying." He was surprised at himself for finding those words, even more so because he felt they were true.

Silence. She nodded. Then, "If only that were all," she said. She sounded exhausted. 

"Come. I'm there for you. Please, be my most precious burden. Allow yourself to not be strong," he said and made to lift her up.

"I don't want to trouble you."

"Please do trouble me." 

He could hardly believe what he was saying. Where did those words come from? Who was he that, all of a sudden, he found such gentle words, such compassionate terms? What made him act so different? How was it that he knew exactly what he had to say to quieten her troubled soul?

It was astounding how good it felt to be so… well, the way he was.

And she was the reason for everything. She managed to make him feel as if he were a good man. 

He gathered her up and easily carried her back towards the bedroom.

"Severus?" she asked, her breath lingering on his throat. She was shivering a little as though she were cold, which she was in spite of the warmth in her chambers. And it was quite warm. Severus was not cold at all despite his naked chest.

"Hmm?" he replied, trying to hold her tighter without making the blankets he had wrapped around his waist slip or stumbling over the ones that were hanging down almost to the floor from the shivering form he held in his arms.

"I think I'd rather be with you in hell than without you in utter emptiness…"

"I'm glad that we established that. And I assure you, you're a much lighter burden when you're holding on as tightly as you are now," he said, sharply sucking air in between his teeth when her cold fingertips slithered to the nape of his neck leaving a trail of goose bumps behind.

Severus gently laid her onto the bed and climbed in after her, drawing up the blankets around the two of them, who were occupying no more space than a single person would need.

"Thank you, Severus. You can't even have a remotely accurate idea of how much all of this really means to me. Everything. You probably don't know this, but you saved me in every way one being can save another—and I haven't even properly thanked you for it," she whispered against his chest.

He was at a loss for words. Had she uttered the famous three words he wouldn't have been more stunned by her confessions. Her choice of words, her tone of voice, said everything.

Severus pressed his lips to her forehead and almost crushed her against his body, holding her as tightly as he could, as though by doing this he could pass through her like a ghost. "I had to choose between a world with you and one without you. In the nick of time, I've made my choice in favour of the first alternative. Was it the right choice, Sariss? Or did you mean what you said to me? Would you rather I had killed you? Tell me I made the right choice."

"Yes. Yes, I think it was the right choice. Thank you," she said, not complaining about the fact that he must be almost suffocating her, the way he held her. It was impossible to tell which one of them was clinging more to the other one.

"No. Thank you," he said as though he were talking to himself and covered her hand that was resting on his chest with his.

After a while, he heard her voice again. "Strange how you know almost everything there's to know about me when I know so little about…" she mumbled sleepily.

"Sariss, all you really need to know about me is that—," he began quietly. Then he looked at her, only to realize that she'd fallen asleep.

"Good night, my love," he whispered. "Don't wake up crying."

**~*~*~**

Sariss had excused herself for the whole afternoon to get some work done and prepare the lessons for when the students returned in a few days she wouldn't have much time for anything else but grading their essays and preparing her lessons. Thus, it was quite logical to finish a great part of what had to be done now. Severus had found this a very good idea also—even though he would have preferred to spend his time with her. He had suggested moving the papers to either one of their offices or studies but she had refused very politely, explaining that, if they were to be in one room for hours and hours they would most likely not do what they were paid for…

"…And thanks to you I have to grade twenty twenty-four inches long essays about Basilisks and Runespoors. As if half of that wouldn't have done. That way the students only write larger and in the case of some, _very_ large indeed…" she said. "Admit it, you were moody that day."

"I was worried about you…"

"And you had nothing better to do than make my students miserable, too?"

"If you put it that way… Yes," he smirked. "But since it was my idea to let them work _a bit_ more than usual—," Sariss raised her eyebrows at that, "—I might as well grade them, too."

"What? No, I am not going to let you do this."

"Why not?"

"Severus, has it ever occurred to you that you're just a tiny little bit… biased?"

"Of course I am. I must be. I am—."

"Oh please, the other Heads of Houses don't award points to their or take them from other houses because they feel like it. They do it when something has been very good or seriously wrong to do."

"And what are you implying with that?"

"Severus, love, you're favouring _your_ Slytherins quite unmistakably, a bit too obviously if you ask me—when under certain other circumstances you can be so very subtle… You've always done that."

"They are good kids—at least some of them," he had to add.

"Malfoy?"

"Had potential. I already said that. And his father is still much respected. I can't just start giving him detention even though he deserves it. He'd be doing nothing else but serving detentions if I did."

"He needs a taste of reality. He can't live his whole life as his father's son, the shadow of his father lurking behind everyone who tries to teach this boy some morals. He has a very twisted sense about right and wrong—."

"As do all Death Eaters, you want to say?"

She winced. "I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking what I could be implying with this…"

"Don't apologize. You're right. In every respect."

"I needed to hear that from you, really." She smirked. "Lately you were right far too often for my taste—not that I'd complain, mind you, it just irks me a bit."

"You don't say."

She playfully wrinkled her nose at him. _Cute_. But then she grew serious again. "We should keep a close eye on the Slytherins, Death Eater offspring in particular. The tension in the air is almost tangible. Something is going to happen. I can almost reach out with my hands and grasp it…"

"You're not just imagining things? After all you went through it would be—"

"Understandable, logical, perhaps?" she finished for him.

He nodded.

"I'm not round the bend, Severus. I do not hear voices. I just sense the atmosphere and it doesn't feel like something to write home about. Not at all. With this prophecy looming all over the place… I understand perfectly well that the Dark side is getting nervous…"

"The prophecy. I'd completely forgotten about it…" Severus said thoughtfully. "Any idea what it means?"

"Why are you asking me that? You should ask Trelawney. In spite of everything, she's the expert—."

"But I am asking you."

She nodded, catching on. "You saw my copy of it, didn't you?" she said cautiously, turning away from him to look out of the window.

"Yes."

"And? What do you think?"

"No. No, that doesn't work with me. I asked you first and thus you'll answer me first before asking me something, got it?"

"Always the teacher, aren't you?" she asked lightly. However, there was an almost imperceptible edge to her voice that didn't escape Severus.

"Oh, stop it already! This is heading towards a nasty row again, and one without a purpose to serve at that."

"Indeed it is. And it will happen if you don't stop pressuring me."

"I was just asking. Nothing more, nothing less. So?"

She groaned—something she did a lot when Severus was around her, he noted. "Let's just say I have a feeling about what it _might_ mean, alright?"

"Have you spoken to Dumbledore about it? He might be interested in learning—."

"No. And I don't think I will. Not now anyway. I'll let the experts handle this. Let them figure it out. Guesswork is not of any use here."

"Care to share your _guesswork_ with me, then?" he asked curiously.

_You definitely know more than you let on, dearest. Knowledge is power. Superior knowledge is control. Control is what you crave._

"I'd rather not. After all, I might be wrong…" she said a bit shakily.

"Or you might be right," he countered, stepping next to her and chancing a look at her profile.

"That's what I fear most…" she trailed off.

He opened his mouth to speak but shut it again when he saw her wrap her arms around herself and rub her upper arms for warmth (which was quite in vain) and reassurance perhaps. The small frown and the almost pleading look in her eyes that were, however, not looking at him, told him clearly not to inquire any further. He'd have to wait and see when she'd decide to let him in on her unpleasant suspicions.

**Maybe she thinks it has something to do with her…**

_Maybe it does… Why else would she be so reluctant to tell anyone about her theories?_

**An outstretched hand, a deadly embrace…**

_She's not a vampire. Deadly embrace. Such nonsense._

"Will I see you at dinner then?" he asked after a few moments of silence.

"Hmm? Oh," she said, apparently caught off-guard by his sudden change of topic. But then she smiled, "Yes."

"I'm looking forward to seeing you there."

"Can't keep away from me for too long a time all of a sudden, can you?" she drawled, stepping closer to him and putting her arms around his waist.

"I don't know what might have given you this impression," he said with a smirk.

She tsked. "Alright, then not."

"Then what not?"

"I was intending to give you something to go, but if you treat me like that," she said, dropping her hands from his waist to her sides.

"Would you rather I treated you like this…" he said, pulling her near, cupping her face with his hand and stooping slightly until he was hardly an inch away from her.

"That's more like it," she breathed, "and as it happens to be that's the one thing that has been on my mind…"

And then she pulled his lips down to hers and kissed him, deeply, hotly, lingeringly, seductively… in essence: senseless. After a minute or so she pulled back, catching her breath.

"That's not fair," Severus said equally breathless. "How am I to concentrate now that you showed me what I can't have?"

"On the contrary. I showed you what you _will_ have. That was a promise and not a demonstration of power."

"You think you have power over me?"

"No, I don't _think_ I have. I _know_ I have."

"I think not," he teased, knowing fully well that she was right. He realized that he'd do anything she asked him to do. There was nothing he wouldn't do for her. Nothing at all.

"Really? Then, perhaps, I should go get my senses tested. All of them…"

And with that said, a wink and a smile, she had swept out of the room, leaving a Severus Snape behind who was _very_ much looking forward to dinner and—most importantly—dessert…

And now Severus was rummaging around in his office, doing an inventory of potions ingredients, controlling their quality and quantity, and then grading essays, sighing and groaning from time to time when he read something completely stupid and off-topic. He realized Sariss had been right when she'd said they needed to get some work done. Severus hadn't been very diligent the last few days when it came to his lessons and duties as a teacher. At first he'd been worried about her, then he'd been angry with her, after that he'd been worried again—and then he'd had better things to do than grading those cursed essays. For once in his life, he wished he hadn't given the students so much homework to do. Usually it served the purpose of occupying his mind with something else but—_no, stop thinking about any of this, it's over, once and for all now!_

However, now its only purpose seemed to be his separation from her. This annoying—yet lovely—wench that made the Severus Snape appear that he could have been had there not—. _Don't go there again, Severus Snape!_ he reprimanded himself. _No self-pity. It's in the past and can't be changed. You're through with all of this…_

He chanced a look at the clock. Had he really been here for the whole afternoon? According to the clock, yes. According to the stack of already graded essays, yes. Impossible that time should have passed so quickly… Well, he had been busy after all… _Tempus fugit_. _It's astounding how time is fleeting sometimes…_ Dinner would be ready soon… And as if on cue, he felt that he was hungry, too.

Quickly finishing the last essay, he laid it on the top of the stack and ran a hand through his hair. Finally.

And as he got up and headed towards the door, he heard a noise coming from the fireplace and a figure stepped out, coughing and waving away the smoke. "I hate Floo powder," Sariss muttered as she caught sight of the look on his face.

"And a good evening to you, too," he said. "What are you doing here?"

"I thought I'd come and get you. Wouldn't have wanted you to miss dinner."

"Afraid I forgot about your little _promise_?"

She crossed her arms in front of her. "I choose to ignore that question for now. I was just intending to accompany you. But if you don't want me to I might as well—." She turned back towards the fireplace, muttering, "Gods, I do hate Floo powder."

"I'd feel honoured if you'd accompany me," he said and extended his arm to her.

"Really? All of a sudden?" She took a few steps towards him.

"Definitely." Severus noticed that she looked a bit tired and strained.

"Alright," she replied, "if you're sure my presence—."

He silenced her by pulling her close and putting a finger to her lips. "If we don't go now, we won't have dinner at all. This desk looks more and more inviting by every passing second."

"It doesn't," she said with a smirk after having taken a look at it.

"You just said that to oppose me."

"Yes, I did. I discovered I just love opposing you, for the mere sake of it. Let's go nonetheless."

"If you insist…"

"I do."

Arm in arm they made their way up the staircase and into the Great Hall—there were no longer curious glances chanced at them—and took their respective seats, filling their plates with chicken and mashed potatoes.

"So?" Dumbledore asked after a while, his eyes twinkling. "Have you spent a nice afternoon?"

"I wish we had," Sariss answered, ignoring the implication one could read into the headmaster's words. "I had twenty twenty-four inches long essays to grade in addition to what I—."

"Rub it in, will you? I offered to grade them for you," Severus interrupted.

Sariss took a sip of pumpkin juice and then said, "And I said that my students are already miserable enough for writing them. They don't need another blow from you. Potions is enough."

"Sariss," he began, setting down his fork, ready to launch into another one of their verbal battles. He couldn't help it. She must be doing this deliberately, driving him up the wall the way she did. "I—." He caught his breath. Her hand was travelling up his knee…

"What is it?" she asked innocently.

"Nothing," he forced out through clenched teeth, breathing a sigh of relief when her hand stopped its journey before reaching a really dangerous area. "You're a little devil," he whispered into her ear. "Winning an argument by using such means… It's not fair."

"You as a Slytherin like me should know that we do not tend to play fair because life isn't fair either," she whispered back, her breath lingering on his ear, making the little hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Then she pulled back to drink from her goblet.

"You just wait until we're alone," he said, mimicking her earlier gesture. She choked on her pumpkin juice.

"You are impossible," she replied a bit shakily, but she managed to plaster an indifferent expression to her face, quite an achievement when one took into account that he let his hand travel slowly higher and higher.

She threw him a sideways glance that told him more than a thousand words. He only smirked. "Alright," she said, setting down her fork. "That's it. I'm finished. How about you?"

"I was only waiting for you."

Sariss had an expression on her face as though she couldn't decide whether she wanted to laugh or simply slap him. "If you'll excuse me, Professor Dumbledore. Good night, everyone." She stood up briskly.

"Retiring so early?" the headmaster asked, his eyes twinkling behind his half-moon spectacles.

Sariss looked at him, then at Severus, back at the headmaster again and then she closed her eyes and shook her head, as though she wanted to say something like, '_Oh no, not you, too. I can't handle two people teasing me._'

Severus stood up and turned to leave. "Headmaster, Professors."

Sariss pushed back her chair and followed him wordlessly. As soon as the doors of the Great Hall had closed behind them, she grabbed hold of his sleeve. "You find all of this incredibly funny, don't you?"

"You were the one who started it."

"Started what?"

"Being naughty."

"Not as naughty as you were, and you all but asked for it…" she began. "Wait a minute! I thought you liked me being naughty."

"Not when in the Great Hall."

"Where then?" she asked with an upward glance. "Your oh so inviting desk?" she said, more than just a tinge of irony in her voice.

"Not when there are much more comfortable alternatives. Your chambers are on the second floor at this time of day, aren't they?"

"I think so, but your chambers are closer," she said.

"My chambers are colder, too. I shall have to try and get them a tad warmer before I take you there again."

"Not much use. You're the only one who can make me feel warm. But nonetheless… That's what I call thoughtful."

"Then we agree to use your chambers, even though they are so very far away?" he asked teasingly.

"I think so… The last one there is a Flobberworm." She had started running up the marble staircase as she said this, but Severus caught up with her in the first floor corridor and swept her up into his arms. "You didn't really think you had a chance, did you?" he asked proceeding along the corridor with long strides.

"Actually, I don't care. So we're both Flobberworms." Sariss giggled, her lips touching his earlobe as she did so.

"Not if I drop you," he drawled huskily.

"You wouldn't," she growled.

"Why shouldn't I?"

"I won't let you," she replied, putting her arms around his neck. "And after all _if_ you did, I could just go back down to dinner and have my dessert there. Only pudding but nonetheless…"

"I see your point." He set her down again as they had reached the entrance to her chambers. After Sariss had opened the door, she walked in and pulled him in after her, replacing the locking spell with a snap of her fingers.

"Where were we?" she mused, approaching him. "About… here, perhaps?" She ran her hands up his chest and around his shoulders and pressed her lips to his throat, trailing kisses in small circles up to his mouth, only teasing him. The familiar tingling sensation raced through his body as she did so and he entwined his fingers in her hair, undoing it, letting it fall down like shining dark brown waves.

When she'd drawn back, a thoughtful look crossed her face. "That was not quite it, was it?" she smiled and bit her lip, giving him a very, very slow look. Incredibly alluring that was.

"No, I think we were here," he said hoarsely and took her face in his hands bringing her lips to his and not only kissing her, but tasting her, taking her breath away, making her knees buckle, so that he had to lower his hands to her waist to embrace her and press her against him. He lifted her a few inches off the ground and headed for the bedroom where the two of them fell onto the bed in a tangle of clothes and limbs.

Sariss was already busy with trying and getting his robes off while he trailed kisses along her jaw line, on her throat and a bit lower as soon as he had gotten rid of some of the offending material that separated them.

Suddenly he felt a twinge of pain and stiffened, gasping at the shock of realization.

"Sariss—," he forced out through clenched teeth, clumsily scrambling up into a sitting position and, clutching his arm, he turned away from her and set his feet firmly to the ground as though that way the pain would seep into the ground and thus leave him. It didn't. It never did.

"What is it—the Mark, isn't it?"

He nodded slightly, taking short gasping breaths, trying to force back the pain. "He's calling his minions," he groaned.

"What happens when you resist?" She sat up, crawling to where he was sitting, tentatively touching his shoulder.

"It'll hurt more." He pulled back the sleeve of his shirt. The Dark Mark was burning black. Taking another gasping breath, he pressed his hand on it, as though he could make it stop by doing so, and started rocking back and forth. "Usually I take some Pain Killing Potion—." He clenched his teeth together. "Not an option now," he forced out, fighting the urge to dig his fingernails deep into the livid Mark.

Sariss stroked his hair with tender hands and embraced him from behind, resting her head on his shoulder, whispering words of comfort that were not of any help at all. He winced and groaned once more as another stab of agony raced through his arm. Sariss winced, too. Of course; she sensed his pain, his fear, his helplessness, his inability to make it stop. Severus felt her tears on his cheek. Then she spoke into his ear, very softly, "Let me see. I want to try something."

"What—are—you—?" he began as she forced his hand away from where it covered the Dark Mark. Severus hadn't been aware of his clutching his forearm that tightly.

Slowly, she moved to lay her hand in the place where his had been only a few seconds ago. The contrast was breathtaking. He couldn't help crying out at the coldness of her touch against the burning fire that was the Dark Mark and flinched. Sariss, however, did not give an inch. She had him in a death grip.

After a while, the shock wore off and, strange as it was, the Mark was only tingling numbly when it should have been burning. It had never stopped that quickly… Sariss's hand was like a living ice pack, much more than that. Severus let his head fall back against her shoulder with a deep sigh of relief and closed his eyes while Sariss, noting that Severus wasn't resisting anymore released the grip she had on him, gently letting her hand rest on the still vividly burning Mark, that didn't hurt anymore, and tenderly stroked his hair with the other one.

"I'm sorry this had to happen now," he whispered after a while, turning to face her, her hand still resting on the ugly reminder of his equally ugly past.

"Whatever for? It's not your fault that he called at this untimely hour," she smiled sadly, tears once again covering her face. He had seen so many different kinds of tears on her already. Tears of sorrow, tears of pain, of misery, of fury, of desperation… He could continue this list endlessly if he wanted to…

She lifted her hand from the Mark to take a look at it and then she did the most unthinkable thing in the world… She bent and pressed her cool lips to it; her touch was electrifying; her tingling breath on the hypersensitive patch of skin made every single little hair on his body stand on end. "Sariss, what—!" he exclaimed, startled, and pulled his arm away—it was a reflex—and she drew back, equally startled, a slightly hurt look in her eyes.

"It's part of you," she stated simply as though it were the most obvious explanation in the world. "I want to know every part of you, everything about you… What you fear, what you want, your dreams and wishes… Everything. Even the bad things." She smoothed back his hair—it had started clinging to the sweat on his forehead when he had been in pain—and brushed her lips over his, very tentatively, hardly touching him, and rested her forehead against his.

"Unusual," he muttered. Yes, unusual that she was interested in his fears and dreams and wishes. Couldn't she tell that she was connected to each of them? She knew some of the worst things he'd ever done and yet… She still wanted to know more "only if you want to tell me, of course." "Quid pro quo?" "Would be only fair." Good things, bad things—when they spoke about those things, she patiently listened to both alike. It was like a therapy. They both had to cope with some things and had seemingly mutually agreed on getting started on it and doing that together. By now she knew even more evil little details about him than Dumbledore, and she still spoke to him, touched him, kissed him. _Why? Why don't those things make me unworthy in your eyes?_ He sometimes wanted to ask her but didn't. Was he afraid of her answer? Was he afraid that she might confess that she regarded herself as undeserving of anything at all, that she regarded herself as more repulsive than all his deeds put together could ever be? She must be aware that there was still a great amount of Dark things Severus couldn't yet bring himself to only think about, let alone utter them. Of course, she was aware. Only because she didn't mention it, didn't mean that she didn't know. Quite the opposite, actually. He'd learnt that the less she spoke about something, the more she generally knew.

"So very unusual," he repeated, caressing her face.

"What do you mean?" she asked curiously, eyeing him a bit suspiciously.

"Unusual. Unconventional. Eccentric. I finally found the few words to describe you with. You're simply unusual."

"I hope so. 'Ordinary' would have been an insult and it would have been a lie, too. 'Unusual' sounds like a compliment, unlike oddball—and I've been called that, too."

"Oddball, huh?" She had managed to draw a smile onto his face by now. The throbbing in his arm was forgotten.

"Yes," she chuckled. "Aurora liked to call me that." Her face fell. "I still miss her. And Rick. And everyone else who ever spoke a single nice word to me and now is no more…" she trailed off, not even smiling anymore. "I seem to lose everyone I care about sooner or later, everyone who cares about me…" She placed her hand on his cheek.

Severus covered it with his for a few seconds.

"So the past has caught up with the two of us once more, hasn't it?"

"Looks like neither one of us can really escape the memories," she murmured, drawing her hand away and dropping her gaze to her hands that were now resting in her lap.

"Tell me about them. You know, the ones that must not be mentioned. You never really told me about them."

"But you know what happened…" she said, slightly puzzled at his request.

"I know the facts," Severus explained. "But I'd like to know how you remember it."

She shook her head and looked at him with those large eyes of hers. "But it's one and the same," she said.

"Really?"

"It's the same," she repeated, her voice having that familiar unsteadiness to it that he had gotten very used to by now. It was there every time she felt insecure, every time she wished that the earth would open up and swallow her so she didn't have to feel again.

"It never is."

"Why? Why make me relive it? I already relive it every night."

"It might help you. You see—this probably sounds very stupid now—if you share it with me, with anyone, you might get it out of your system," he faltered. "It can't really be compared to what I've been through, I know that, but I know it worked to some extent when _I_ told _you_ those things about _me_. For a few days I actually slept without any potion to ward off the dreams until—."

"Until he came and added new ones. I understand."

"So, you want to fill me in on a bit of it?"

"A bit it is, then," she nodded, a thoughtful look crossing her face, as she laid back onto the bed, her hair spread all over her and the pillow, and stared at the ceiling as she began to speak. "Where should I start?"

"The beginning is always a good start."

She nodded and thought for a moment.

"You know, from the first day that I can remember," she began slowly as though she were telling a child a fairy tale, "I had the idea that my father was a good man. My mother had never told me anything about him. There were no pictures of him either… Dark times, she said, you see?"

Severus nodded, although she wasn't looking at him and thus couldn't see him nod.

"She said he'd died before I was born—and come to think of it, it's the truth. She could never have loved something like what he was back then and is now again enough to bear his child…"

A single tear slithered out of the corner of her eye.

"All my life I harboured the illusion that he'd been a brave man, gentle, mild and virtuous—a bit like Dumbledore—caring and loving. I wanted him to be proud of me."

"Dumbledore or your father?"

She looked puzzled for a moment and blinked thoughtfully several times. "Both, I think…" she trailed off, staring unblinkingly and wide-eyed at the ceiling again.

Severus abandoned his sitting position and laid down next to her, his head propped up on his elbow so that he faced her. She didn't react. "Sariss?" he chanced, blinking away the image of his nightmares that started blending in with reality. "Sariss?"

"Huh? What?" She shook her head. "Sorry, I was somewhere else again."

"Where were you?" he asked tentatively.

"You know where," she replied, looking him in the eyes. And he knew. She had been with Voldemort, the Voldemort who was inside her head, who didn't let her sleep in peace, now even less than ever before.

How did she do it, this looking so very beautiful even when she was so very sad? It must be the large eyes, the rosy lips, the pallor of her skin… Or had it nothing to with what her body looked like? Was it her strength, her vulnerability, her stubbornness, her intellect, simply her personality? Severus still marvelled at the inconsistencies and contradictions in her character. She simply was a bit of everything, simply unusual. He figured it must be the combination that did it.

He prompted her to go on, which she did.

"As you know already, my world fell apart on my tenth birthday and I'm still mending the pieces of this world together, but some of them seem to be missing and to have been replaced by ones that do not fit, the ones he added… I saw him kill my mother, I saw my mother die because she didn't want him to get me. She must have known what he'd do—or must at least have had an idea of it… And then…" she trailed off and screwed her eyes shut for a moment before she had composed herself enough to continue.

"He advanced on me. He told me to not be afraid, that he'd come to give me a _present_, a _birthday present_, and he grabbed me around the throat then, pressing me into the wall that I thought I'd pass right through it if he continued doing this for much longer… Then he called for assistance and then it was the potion and the spell. I couldn't do anything to hold them back, I couldn't. They were holding me, forcing me to swallow this disgusting potion, like tar it tasted and it felt like liquid ice. I had no idea what it would do to me. I can still hear my screaming; I can still feel his hands on my throat; I can still feel the sensation that spread through my body. 'This must be death', I thought, as a hand made of ice clutched my heart and my stomach and squeezed the life out of me. But there was unicorn blood in it, I'm certain of this, and it kept me alive when the unnameable ingredients of the potion should have killed me. I know it. I don't know if Dumbledore ever suspected it. I don't even want to know. Some things should not be spoken about. Some questions are better left unasked sometimes… I drank the potion. I should have fought more strongly; I should have… done _some_thing. Anything at all. I still feel his hands on me. I still hear his laughter. Now more than ever… I can… I can feel his fingernail brush over my cheek, his spidery fingers force me to look up at him, his fiery red eyes burn into my skull… I can feel the knives and the whips and the clubs cutting and beating and ripping through my skin as though they wouldn't stop until they'd torn the flesh from my very bones, as blood and tears run down my face, my robes and my hair are stick to the agony that once was my skin, that once was me…" She spoke all of this in a very monotonous voice that implied none of the emotions she was talking about. But a constant flow of tears out of the corner of her eye and a slight shuddering of her body betrayed her emotional state all too clearly.

He closed his eyes at this all too lively image that presented itself to him. A painter could have drawn a picture of everything only by listening to her descriptions…

If Severus kept his eyes open and kept looking at her now, she'd transform before his eyes into the bloody mess he had placed onto the bed in the infirmary. That memory would never leave him. And he made a vow he'd never tell her that he had seen her like this, never tell her that the image of her lying there, undressed, covered in her own blood, torn into pieces, would haunt him forever.

He began to speak. "Have you noticed that you kind of combined the two events?" he asked unsteadily.

"They're not really two events. Not for me. To you, they may seem unconnected. To me, the time in-between was just a pause of eighteen years. To me it is as though he resumed where he had left off… on my tenth birthday." Her voice had become very distant by now and dropped to a harsh whisper that would have been inaudible to Severus if he hadn't been so close to her.

After a while, she hoisted herself up into a sitting position. "Was that what you wanted to hear? Is it enough for now? Because I can't seem to put order into those events… I'm sorry, but I can't. I'm in a terrible pain," she whispered and curled up into a foetal position. But she hadn't turned away as she had been doing before.

"Sariss, I… I don't know what to say." He was shaken by what she'd told him. He had never before pictured the events like that. He had thought—no, hoped—the little girl had maybe forgotten the greater deal of what had happened. But she hadn't. The glass of her evil memories had been quite full all the time ever since and then Voldemort came back and poured in even more of them—and the glass that was her mind couldn't hold them. It overflowed, just like her eyes had overflowed a few days ago and as they did now.

"You heard what I haven't even told Dumbledore. There were so many things I'd forgotten or didn't want to talk about. Everything surfaces now. I'll never speak about it again. Not like this—because it's tearing me in two to hear it from myself." She looked at him for a moment and added, "Everything's becoming clearer with every time I dream about it."

Severus swallowed. "If you think I feel honoured now… I'm… You… I seem to never be prepared for what you tell me or what you do. Perhaps you should tell me what to do, what to say now… I can't seem to be able to think about something clever to say, to soothe you. I can't even tell you that everything will be alright, because we both know it won't…"

"I know that. I've always known. He'll haunt me until the last day of my miserable life," she whispered hoarsely, staring into nothingness.

_Don't say those things. Don't talk of the end, _he thought, not daring to utter the words.

Instead, Severus drew her into a hug, rubbing her back, his head resting on her shoulder; cheek-to-cheek they were. She was still only half-dressed, her skin cold as ice, drawing the warmth from him like a sponge soaked up water, as she put her arms around him. However, she did not cry anymore, for which he was very grateful.

"Perhaps you should sleep a bit," he suggested after a while when she had said no more.

"I don't want to sleep. I'll dream as soon as the potion wears off, which means that I cannot sleep for too long a time unless I want to have another nightmare."

Lacking anything else to say, he only kissed and stroked her hair in response.

After another few minutes had passed, she began to speak hesitantly, very softly and in a very pleading voice, "Make love to me, Severus. Make me feel wanted, make me feel needed, make me feel…" Her hands travelled around his neck. "Make me feel alive."

There was so much desperation in her voice, so much pain. He moved to look at her, and saw them in her eyes, too, before she closed them, awaiting for him to kiss her, which he did, cupping her face in his hands first, then letting them wander down her shoulders and back, pushing her down into the pillows and beginning to trail kisses on her throat, along her collarbone, teasing this cold skin, making it slowly grow warmer, despite the fact that he removed the rest of her and his clothing while Sariss lay there, eyes closed, cheeks flushed, breasts heaving with her ragged breathing, her hands roaming over his chest, his arms, wrapping her body around him, giving herself to him, body and soul, holding him close…

Quite some time later, Sariss fell asleep in his arms, snuggling into him, and did not stir until the following morning.

**Next chapter:**

A game of chess, some stories of the past, Sirius, Remus, Mundungus Fletcher—a young Severus Snape, an even younger Harry—and Lily Potter.


	27. And All In War With Time

**Author's note:** Thank you to Miriam! I hope people will continue reading this story until its end, even though it has been rendered AU as of yesterday.

Chapter 26: And All in War with Time

**_When I consider every thing that grows_****_  
_****_Holds in perfection but a little moment,_****_   
_****_That this huge stage presenteth nought but shows_****_  
_****_Whereon the stars in secret influence comment;_********  
****_When I perceive that men as plants increase,_****_   
_****_Cheered and cheque'd even by the self-same sky,_****_   
_****_Vaunt in their youthful sap, at height decrease,_****_   
_****_And wear their brave state out of memory;_****_   
_****_Then the conceit of this inconstant stay_****_  
_****_Sets you most rich in youth before my sight,_****_   
_****_Where wasteful Time debateth with Decay,_****_   
_****_To change your day of youth to sullied night;_****_   
_****_And all in war with Time for love of you,_****_   
_****_As he takes from you, I engraft you new._******

_—William Shakespeare: Sonnet No. 15_

On Thursday morning, Sariss had said she wanted to catch up on some work. The exams would be coming up in a couple of weeks, too, and as soon as the students returned, there wouldn't be very much time to do those things if Sariss and Severus wanted to spend some time with each other. Thus, Severus had agreed. Grudgingly, but he had agreed. It was logical. And everyone knew that Sariss had always been some sort of a workaholic. It took her mind off other things. Severus knew that this was a very useful thing, thinking about things as trivial as the grade an essay should receive or how you best taught your students this and that instead of… other things.

After lunch, however, Severus offered to take her to his chambers for a game of chess and such. Severus's quarters seemed more comfortable when Sariss was there. It was as though she belonged there already.

She quickly went and fetched her chessmen and was back in the Entrance Hall within a couple of minutes.

"That really wasn't necessary. I told you I have two sets. Playing chess against myself wouldn't be possible otherwise."

"I always play with my own chessmen, never with those of other people. No offence."

"None taken. If you insist."

"I do."

Once in his chambers they began with setting up the game. Sariss had a black set. She obviously liked that colour better than white. The queen and king wore silver crowns, the bishops silver lances, the horses of the knights silver bridles and the knights wore silver suits of armour whereas the pawns were armed with wooden spikes. Even the castles had small ornaments, little banners that flapped although there was not the hint of a breeze. It was a beautiful set, very intricately made. It must have cost a small fortune.

"A beautiful set. I almost feel sorry for having to slay your little army," Severus said.

"That's something that has yet to be seen, since those pieces fought many a battle for me already. And yes, it is beautiful. I liked it the moment I saw it. The first thing I bought when Dumbledore took me shopping in Diagon Alley to get my school stuff, well, right after we got my wand."

"Must have cost a fortune. Dumbledore didn't object?"

"It was his idea to buy some pretty and quite useless stuff. I didn't have those things anymore after I'd wrecked the house. And since this set is pretty but definitely not completely useless…" she trailed off. "You see my point, don't you?"

Severus nodded, shoving a small slightly disorientated white pawn into its respective place. "There, that's where you belong," he said as the pawn stumbled into place and rubbed its back, an expression on his little face that was somewhere between relief that he was where he belonged and a scowl that his master had pushed him there rather insensitively.

Sariss chuckled slightly as she watched that scene.

"Everything alright? Ready, Sariss?"

"Just waiting for you to make the first move. White begins."

"Alright then." Severus prodded the pawn he'd just mistreated to walk two spaces forwards, which it did, not liking it very much that it was to stand all alone in the middle of the chessboard.

"Your move."

"All right, little fellows, let's wage war against the white ones over there," she said and made her move. 

The silver pendant Sariss always wore slipped out of her robes when she leant forwards, twinkling and flashing.

"I've been wondering…" Severus began hesitantly, the image of her damaged body flashing through his mind.

"Yes?"

"I've been wondering… Do you wear this pendant for a reason or just because you like it? I can't remember seeing you without it."

"I like it, yes," she replied. "And it does have a meaning, too." She clutched her fist around it before she slipped it back inside.

"What does it mean?"

"It's only a third of a three-part-puzzle if you want to call it that. It was once shaped like a full moon. I chose the waning moon for myself."

"Any particular reason?"

"No. I just like the waning moon better than the waxing one. No idea why that is so."

"What about the other parts?" Severus asked curiously, although he had an idea of what she might answer.

"Rick and Rory."

"Rory?"

"Short for Aurora. She never liked being called that, but it suited her so well that I just kept calling her Rory and it kind of stayed. Rick started calling her that, too. They wanted to marry, you know. The invitations had already been designed. They actually read 'Rick and Rory'; she had already been looking for a nice wedding gown; I was supposed to be one of their brides-maids. Rory got a dress for me, actually for all of us. It was so awful," Sariss chuckled, but had tears in her eyes. "It was lavender, short sleeves, knee-length, horribly frilly. A nightmare, really. Can you imagine me wearing something lavender? With frills?"

Severus forced a small smile. He felt he failed miserably. "What would you have liked?"

"The complete opposite. Deep purple. Long sleeves, long skirt, so long the hem of it touches the floor. Similar to those I wear usually. And totally unsuitable for weddings, I must admit… Purple. I love that colour. It's the colour of every Sleeping Potion I can think of. I had them all. But you see, I'd wear that hideous dress—Gladly!—without wasting a single thought to it, if only that wedding would take place…" Sariss wiped a tear away and sniffed softly. "Sorry, I digressed. The two missing parts of the moon puzzle…"

"Yes."

"They still have them. We made a vow as to never take them off and we never did, not even in death. I saw to it that they would be buried with them, that they wouldn't be taken off them. It was quite enough for me that they really made wills at their young age and left me their wands so I'd never forget them." Sariss blinked back tears. "As if I ever could. Every time I hear fast footsteps approaching, a small part of me expects that they'll skitter into the room, wearing broad smiles, still fifteen or so years old…" She buried her face in her hands for a moment and took a deep calming breath. 

Severus had a feeling that otherwise he'd better cast Cushioning charms on some of the things that were sitting on his shelves…

"Sorry," she whispered as she dropped her hands back into her lap.

"No problem, at least you broke nothing," Severus tried to sound casual.

"Yeah, quite an achievement." She looked at him sheepishly. "You must find it quite annoying that I'm crying all the time, don't you?"

"When it can't be helped…" He shrugged. "And it's not all the time."

"Oh, Severus, but it's getting worse. Everything in this world seems to go haywire…" she trailed off and sighed. "Thanks for listening to my ramblings. I really should learn to state my answers short and simple. It would save you much pain."

"I'm not in pain."

"It pains you very much when I cry. You can hide many of your feelings but never the pain because hiding the feelings also causes you pain—."

"And you feel it, too."

She nodded.

"I wish I could—."

"You can't help me, Severus, I told you, you can't change it, no one can. But you could do me a favour and ignore my mood swings. I can do nothing about them. They have nothing to do with you or anyone else. They're just there whether you want them or not," she said. "Please ignore them."

"I can try."

"Thank you. So… then we'd better start this now. There's a game to be played, isn't there? And now that I've told you something, you tell me something, Severus. Take my mind off other things."

"Is this sort of a 'Quid pro quo'?"

"Sort of," she smiled slightly.

"What do you want to know?"

"Stuff. What were you like when you were in school? What did you do? What pranks did you pull? General stuff, you see. Just things about you, anything, whatever you feel could make a nice topic for conversation."

"So you don't really care what I tell you?"

"I just want to listen to your voice; it's the complete opposite of the voice that haunts me in my sleep. I always loved your voice." The smile grew a bit wider and also a bit sheepish. "And if you tell me something funny or entertaining I might even listen to what you say," she grinned mischievously and bit her lip.

"You're not just trying to win the game by distracting me?"

"I wouldn't dare," she said, a scandalized look on her face that was replaced by the usual faint half smile within a matter of seconds. "At least not by making you talk to me. There are… _things_ I could do to really distract you. I know you well enough by now." She gave him a very slow look.

Severus raised his eyebrows. "If you keep this up, I'll have to forfeit this game at a very early status—although, at second thought…"

"I'll try to be a good girl. Cross my heart," she smiled again.

"Alright then." Severus finally made another move, prompting a knight to make a jump over the line of pawns. "How about a scary story about a werewolf and someone who didn't like me—and I didn't like him either—but rescued me nonetheless?"

"Don't give everything away in a summary. Have your teachers never taught you that?" she playfully chided him.

"Sorry, Ma'am."

"Go on," she prompted after a short laugh at the sheepish look he was giving her and pondered her next move.

And thus, Severus told her the whole damn story. How he came to be everything but friends with the group of people he had dubbed 'The Potter Gang' and quite a great deal of anecdotes about his teachers and the pranks the students had pulled when he had been one. There were only a few things he carefully steered around…

Sariss was a good audience. Indeed, she was an audience so good that only occasionally they moved the chessmen around. The little fellows, as Sariss had called them, grew tired and sat down, only getting up when finally someone prompted them to get a move on and go here and there.

"And there it was," Severus said. "The werewolf. A huge beast, snarling and growling and baring its teeth. And Potter who had come rushing after me pulled me out of there. I couldn't move when I stared into the yellow eyes of the werewolf that was Lupin."

She did indeed make a good audience.

"Oh my goodness! Black could have gotten you killed!" Sariss exclaimed, prodding the chessmen to stop loitering and come to attention again.

"Indeed, and then we'd never have met, love." Sariss smiled at that. She did that a lot today. "But instead of them being expelled, I was sworn to secrecy." Severus moved a knight to check Sariss's king.

"That's understandable. Think of the uproar that would have been if it had become publicly known that Dumbledore had allowed a werewolf to attend Hogwarts. But I see your point, too," she added quickly. "You know you'll never be able to settle the score—because he's been innocent all the time… You'd have loved to see him _Kissed _four years ago, didn't you?"

He had to admire her composure when she said this. Apparently, she didn't mind that topic when it didn't involve her directly.

"Back then… yes."

"That would have settled your scores."

"Yes, but the thing is Snapes don't settle their scores. We harbour them instead," Severus said, flinching a bit as he watched the knight being dragged off its horse and off the board by one of Sariss's vicious little pawns that happily hopped back towards the square that had been occupied by the white knight just a minute ago. The pawn turned around to face its mistress and waved, grinned and bowed at Sariss who kissed the tip of a finger and blew the little fellow a kiss.

"So that's how you're doing it."

"Doing what?" She raised her eyes to meet his.

"Getting them to obey without one hell of a discussion first."

"I brought them up properly," she drawled. "Actually they're much easier to handle than you. And did I have any problems with you lately? I think not," she grinned but then grew serious again. "Severus… this werewolf thing… it's no reason to despise the boy only because the score with his father—." 

"Potter?"

"Yes."

Severus prodded the white king to move two squares to the right. It did, but only after it had scowled at Severus and complained loudly that two squares were a bit far, quite a distance for a man so small and of such age already. "Oh, shut up," the Potions master mumbled as the castle that had to move also joined in. "I don't despise him," he said to Sariss.

"Liar." She smiled knowingly. "I'm neither blind nor deaf nor insensitive all of a sudden."

"I already told you I'm not very fond of him. That's all. He and his friends, they tend to break rules. When everyone tries to protect them they slip out of the castle—unnoticed! Even with an Invisibility Cloak, this can't be so easy. I've seen evidence that they went into Hogsmeade lately. Again! What I wouldn't give to find out how they do it…"

"But that's not the _only_ reason you don't like him, is it? I can tell by your face if by nothing else."

"It's not the _only_ reason, you're right about that. Only one of many… This empathic ability of yours is so annoying. Will I ever be able to hide anything from you again?" he grumbled.

"Why would you try and hide something from me? Apart from another woman you hide in your closet, that is?"

"You can't know about that!" Severus exclaimed, plastering a look of mild panic on his face. It achieved exactly what he had wanted to: Sariss laughed.

"A nice attempt at steering the conversation in another direction," she said after a few seconds, the smile leaving her face. "But I haven't forgotten what I asked you."

"What a coincidence. I have."

"You haven't."

"How would you know?"

"You're uncomfortable. Is it something that throws an unfavourable light on you?"

"What if it does?"

"Can't be worse than what I already know."

"I really needed to hear that," Severus muttered, half-serious, half-sarcastic.

"Come on, tell me. The more you try to back out, the more I want to know."

"Nosy little wench."

"Take that back!" she mock-glowered. "I'm not little."

"Nosy wench then."

"That's better," she grinned. "Out with it."

"You can be such a pain in the neck sometimes," Severus muttered. 

"Part of my charm," she retorted. "And I know you just love it."

"Let's make it short, okay? I was working as a spy to bring down Voldemort. I risked my life every day. He might have discovered I was a spy any moment and then he would have killed me. Are you still there?"

"I'm there," she said. "And you're not telling me anything new."

"Just wait," he continued. "And then, when I pretend to still be what I once was, when I do things that constantly remind me of my wrong choice that I was too weak to refuse, of things too horrible to even think about them, Voldemort goes to kill a baby. I rush to Dumbledore to warn him that Voldemort had learnt about the Potters' whereabouts, to try and save them. What happens? Instead of me getting Order of Merlin Second Class at least, First Class at best, Voldemort reaches them before anyone can warn them, the curse bounces off Potter and rids us of Voldemort for fourteen years. The baby is the hero. Books are written about him; everyone in the wizarding world knows his name. And what about Severus Snape? He must be vouched for by Albus Dumbledore when the Ministry come and arrest the Death Eaters and take them to Azkaban to be tried. Not even a 'Thanks for the try.'"

"But he was only a baby. He didn't do it deliberately. Would you rather he had died, too?"

"No one should have died, that's what I wanted. Not the baby. Not his mother, not even James Potter. I owe him my life and I never got to repay him for that. I don't want to be indebted. To no one. Least of all him." It felt strangely good to state it as it was, to get it out of his system even though it was not everything that was on his mind. He was too used to guarding his secrets to reveal them without reason to. And he would never tell them when it wasn't necessary, not without having been asked a direct question—perhaps not even then if he could help it, if he could manage to look into those greenish eyes that were watching him and refuse to answer… If only he could. He seemed to have lost a bit of that ability in her presence—but not all of it. 

"And now I help protect his son, and no matter what I do I'll never be able to settle the debt. Not really. Because James Potter is dead and the boy isn't his father," he finished, waiting for her to reply, which she, however, didn't. 

They lapsed into silence, mutually and wordlessly deciding to resume the game.

Severus pondered what Sariss might be thinking now since she had a very thoughtful expression on her face, although that might only be there because Severus had made an interesting move on the chessboard…

After a few minutes of thinking, Sariss moved her bishop into a perfect position to be taken by Severus's kingside castle. "I think I know now what you were like when you were at school," she said casually.

"Really?" he asked dryly, glad that she let him and the darker part of his past rest in peace—at least for now—and prodded the castle to take care of the bishop.

"I don't think I would have liked you as a housemate," she drawled, a tinge to her voice that was playful on the one hand, on the other hand she sounded much too serious for his taste. "Obnoxious git would have been the nicest thing I'd called you. Self-centred egomaniac would have been on the more creative side, however." She told the queen to take a little white pawn. It was not a pretty sight. Apparently, the game had just begun in earnest.

"Then I'm quite glad about our vast age difference. I wouldn't have liked you either," Severus smirked as he took Sariss's black queen with his bishop that avenged the still knocked-out pawn viciously. 

"It's a miracle your life has extended this far, old man," she teased. "However, I'm glad that we settled this—but it's hardly ten years. And don't you give me that mock 'I'm an old man, I could be your father'-look, because you clearly couldn't and aren't feeling _that_ old either," Sariss said with a wink that quite obviously explained what she was referring to…

She moved one of her castles a few squares. "Wizards tend to get very old after all. Look at Dumbledore. One hundred and fifty years! And still behaving like a teenager sometimes although like a teenager with the wisdom of a very old man."

Severus's knight all but slew another black pawn. Sariss winced and whispered an almost inaudible "Sorry, I'll make up for it" to the other chess pieces that threw her accusing looks and shook their little fists at her.

Severus allowed himself a small sneer. She sneered back but her eyes suddenly sparkled suspiciously. What was this woman up to now? He took a closer look at the chessboard but didn't see anything dangerous. 

_Hmm…_

The move she made now was almost an invitation for his castle to take out hers. If she kept this up, she wouldn't have very many pieces left soon…

However, Severus accepted. The white castle demolished the black one.

"I must admit that in retrospect I am glad that the man is so soft-hearted. I regard it as a direct consequence of Lupin's attendance here that Dumbledore brought _you_ here, too."

"He certainly sees more than the obvious." Sariss twirled a curl of her hair around her finger. 

_So alluring, the little wench… And to bite her lip like that… _

**Patience is a virtue.**

_Don't say that._

**Oops. Sorry, I forgot… You're right. It's only annoying right now.**

_Will you stop reminding me?_

**I'm not very helpful, am I?**

_Master of the obvious. Now be quiet. It's hard enough to concentrate on the game without you babbling about things that aren't very… pleasant._

**In comparison with the ones that tend to infiltrate your mind at almost every look you take at her that is, isn't it?**

_Will you please stop insinuating?_

**Why? You're going to lose the game anyway.**

_You don't know that. I have more pieces and more powerful ones on the chessboard than she does._

**If you say so. Who am I to give you advice?**

_Exactly… Oh, she did it again._

**What?**

_She bit her lip. She knows how that affects me, I'm sure._

**She does it when she's deep in thought.**

_That's right. But she also does it… on other… er… occasions…_

**Alluring little wench.**

_So I've said._

Severus mentally shook himself. "I'm not so sure about that. Perhaps it's just that sometimes he's the _only_ one to see the obvi—."

"Good afternoon," a voice coming from the fireplace said cheerily. "I kind of knew I'd find you here, Sariss."

Severus jumped slightly as did Sariss. "Good afternoon, Professor Dumbledore." She gave a small smile. 

"Headmaster." Dumbledore's head was floating in the flames, looking as though his hair and beard were on fire.

"Playing chess, huh? Who wins?" he asked, curiously eyeing the chessboard.

Sariss threw Severus a mischievous glance. "Me. I have a cunning plan," she answered without the slightest hint of hesitation, a tone in her voice that expressed clearly that she was sure she'd win.

"You… do?" Severus was a bit startled. If anything, her strategy had been somewhat confusing to him. He couldn't see where this apparent chaos would lead her. 

_Divisionary tactics… Damn! _

**I told you you're going to lose.**

_You could have informed me a bit earlier._

**Wouldn't have wanted to interrupt your conversation.**

_Now that would have been a first._

"Certainly." She raised her eyebrows at him, then turned back towards the headmaster's head that was still floating inside the fireplace. "Why are you here?" she asked Dumbledore.

"As much as I hate to interrupt this surely exciting game of yours…" he began. "Sariss, I must ask a favour of you. Would you mind coming to my office?"

"What's up?" She furrowed her eyebrows suspiciously. Did she sense something?

"Your questions will be answered once you're here. You may use the fireplace. I've opened it for you." Dumbledore's head disappeared.

"Must be important," Severus said.

"Quite. I'd better go immediately then," Sariss replied and stood up.

"You want me to come with you?"

She shook her head. "I don't think this will be necessary. I'm a big girl, remember? And Dumbledore's office is as of yet not 'Enemy territory'," she said. "I won't take long. At least I hope so, since, you see, I had a few things on my mind… and you could actually mend our little armies in the meantime… They tend to get a little…er… uncooperative if you leave them lying around in pieces for too long a time…" she trailed off throwing him a meaningful glance over her shoulder.

She took a pinch of Floo powder out of a jar on the mantelpiece and threw it into the fireplace. The flames turned green. She made to step into it, but had obviously forgotten something since she turned around once more, leant over Severus's shoulder to prod her remaining black castle to move all the way to the other side—Severus's side—of the chessboard. 

"Check—," she said, and the castle once more gathered its rocky skirt up and menacingly crept towards the white king that danced nervously on the spot, throwing Severus a pleading look shortly before it was hit on the head by the looming castle, unnecessarily brutal.

"—and mate," Sariss breathed into his ear and brushed it with her lips, sending that certain tingling sensation through him, as he disbelievingly stared at the sorry remains of his king.

"Check. Mate," he whispered incredulously as Sariss swept towards the fireplace, stepped into the roaring green flames, and disappeared.

_The king is dead._

Sighing and shaking his head, Severus grabbed his wand and set to repair the damaged pieces, his own and Sariss's. If they weren't of stone, metal and wood, it would have been a bloodbath. Sariss had won although she had had only six pieces left unscathed whereas Severus had had ten—until the mutilation of his king, that is. And three of her remaining pieces were pawns. Yet, she had won. Severus made a mental note as to the fact that apparently there was no strength in numbers after all…

**~*~*~**

Sariss walked into the flames and came back out in Dumbledore's office. Coughing and spluttering she beat the soot from her robes.

"Gods, I hate Floo powder," she croaked, before she grew aware of four pairs of eyes that were watching her. Dumbledore had visitors. Three men. One of them, she knew. Mundungus Fletcher. He greeted her with a short nod. She responded the same way. 

One of the other two men looked at her, a strange expression on his face, scanning her from head to toe. He was casually leaning by the window. A tall man he was, tall and slender, with dark hair. Quite handsome. His pale eyes met her greenish ones. He was clearly confused about something although Sariss couldn't tell what might be wrong.

"What's wrong?" she asked him thus. 

The man shook his head, as Dumbledore gave him a strange look, a sharp look, a look that could very well have said '_Don't you dare_.' "Probably nothing," the man said. Although he added very quietly, as though he were muttering to himself, "at least I think so."

"Let me introduce you," Dumbledore spoke. "Sariss Ravon, our DADA mistress. Sirius Black, officially declared innocent ex-convict of Azkaban and member of the Order of the Phoenix, which consists of us here and quite a few more people I would rather not mention in front of everybody here."

_So this is Sirius Black. Looks very much different from the pictures that had been everywhere a few years ago…_

"I know. Too dangerous if someone were to be caught and—," Sariss muttered. She had already heard this how many times? 

"Enchanted," Black said and shook her hand, wincing slightly as her hands were once again very cold.

"Nice to meet you, Mr Black. I've heard much about you."

"Only good things, I hope." 

"Most recently…" She smirked, remembering what Severus had told her, "Yes, only good things."

"And this is Remus Lupin. He once had your job until—."

"I resigned. For quite obvious reasons," he began. Remus Lupin had a nice calm voice. Being a werewolf had, however, taken its toll on him. The hair on his temples turned grey prematurely, although it wasn't that clearly visible. His light-brown hair didn't make too much of a contrast. "To get things straight, I am a werewolf when the certain time in a month comes. So if you should feel as though you'd rather—."

"I don't mind, I always am what I am," Sariss stated dryly. "Nice to meet you, too." She smiled and shook his hand, too, and with a certain satisfaction noted that he didn't so much as flinch. Perhaps it was because both had a bit of darkness inside of them…

"You already know Mundungus Fletcher over there," Dumbledore continued the introductions.

"Hello. How do you do."

Fletcher nodded and smiled. "Good to see you well, Ravon."

"It's Professor Ravon, but I'll forgive you just this once."

"A close shave it was then. And I must say, considering the devastation I saw you cause when you were a kid—and later on, too—Hogwarts castle's foundations still seem quite firm and its walls quite stable and intact."

Sariss rolled her eyes. "You just had to rub it in, didn't you?" she sneered mock-evilly.

"I just had a déjà-vu, Remus," Sirius Black muttered. "Is sneering infectious or does it come with the package when you're a Slytherin? Say, Miss—Professor Ravon, have you been spending very much time with Snape lately? He's…" he broke off, noticing that Dumbledore was sniggering silently and Sariss had crossed her arms, gave him a half-hearted glare and was slowly turning a little pink around the ears.

Black groaned.

"You really put your foot in it, mate," Remus Lupin laughed at the horrified look on Black's face.

"Please tell me you and he aren't…"

"I'm not quite sure what you're referring to, but er… I think a fairly general answer to your fairly general enquiry would be…" She grinned mischievously. "Yes, of course," she stated brightly. One could almost see his brain failing to process the input.

"One for the album, Sirius. How many times have you been turned down in your life?" Fletcher asked, clearly enjoying himself.

"She didn't… You didn't turn me down. You couldn't because I didn't even try to—," Black stuttered. 

"Just wait till I tell Elizabeth about your attempt at—."

"And you can tell Liz that I'm the complete saint," he exclaimed, flustered.

**He's cute when he does that, isn't he?**

_Oh you! You find every tall dark-haired man cute, don't you?_

**Now that you mention it…**

_May I remind you that there's already a dead sexy guy waiting for me? In his chambers where there's a nice and comfy—_

**I get it. I'll be quiet… But he really is cute.**

_Alright. He's handsome. But so is Lupin. And so are a bunch of other men I've seen in my life—_

**But for you there's only 'the obnoxious and sneering Potions master', right?**

_Right. But he's been only sneering lately._

**So he's no longer being obnoxious then?**

_He's been many things recently, but not obnoxious. I won't tell you what he's been in detail. So don't even ask._

**You've given me some very lovely ideas by refusing to tell any details, dear.**

_I sure hope so…_

"Must be a first, I'm fairly sure," replied Lupin, now grinning from ear to ear. Strange how a smile could make a face look years younger. It wasn't only so with Severus…

"I think," Dumbledore interfered, obviously enjoying himself, too, "that this has been quite enough small talk for now. Let's get to business, shall we?"

"If it can't be helped at all," Fletcher muttered, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"So," Sariss sat down in an empty armchair, "why this secrecy? What do you want to ask me?"

"I'd like you to travel back in time to do something for me."

"I beg your pardon? Change the past?" Sariss was slightly horrified. A mere attempt at something like that could change the world as you knew it in a way that people who would have lived would be dead when you returned…

"Yes. There's something that must be done."

"But… But I could cause a real catastrophe… You said it yourself. One must not change past events. The consequences of that…"

"This is not so much about changing the past as it is about securing the recent past, present and the future by doing something that had been done a long time ago already," Dumbledore explained.

"I don't understand," Sariss replied, chancing looks at the other people who were assembled. Their faces betrayed nothing, yet their emotions did. All of them without exception were highly anxious. They apparently had been filled in already…

"I want you to go back in time to Hallowe'en night 1981. The night the Potters died."

"Why? It's happened already!" Sariss exclaimed. Dumbledore must be out of his mind. Going back in time. To a time and place where Voldemort had been at the height of his powers… However, it couldn't hurt to know the details… "What is there that had to be done back then?"

"Do you trust me, Sariss?" 

"You know I do, but that's not the point here—."

"Then go. The whole wizarding world needs you to have been there."

"How do you know all that?"

She chanced looks at the other people in the room. Were they here to back Dumbledore up or was there something else the headmaster had to take care off? Or had they already finished their business and just wanted to see what would happen?

"You were there. I'll explain as soon as you return. If I told you now you might act differently from what you… well… actually _did_ almost 17 years ago…"

"You'll forgive me if I'm _slightly_ puzzled, will you?"

"As long as you do as I requested… Please, Sariss, must I beg you to do it? Must I beg you to try to save them?" He was clearly distressed. Suddenly he looked as old as he was. It must be really important to try—.

"What do you mean, 'try'?" She paused. "Wait a second. If I was there the night they died, sent by you to save them…" One by one, the pieces of the puzzle fell into place. "Doesn't that mean I've failed?"

"Not necessarily. You know, we never found out why Harry really survived the Killing Curse. It might have been a consequence of you being there. However, we can't be sure of anything but of your presence back then."

She sighed. "Alright, I'll do it. But as soon as I'm back, I want answers. I want to know how you knew I was supposed to be there in the first place."

"You shall receive your answers. Yet I think it is clear that you will have much more answers to my questions once you return than I already have to yours."

He handed her the time-turner. "It is already set to the exact date and time. Oh, and here's a broomstick to take you past the wards, so you can Apparate from there to a place near to Godric's Hollow. But be careful not to be seen by your past self when you leave the castle—just as a precaution. And try not to be seen by anyone else either unless you can't avoid it at all. I think my former self will be quite helpful as soon as it's up to you to return here. Never mind the warm welcome…" he trailed off.

"I take it you won't be happy to see me then?"

"I weren't. At first at least," he chuckled slightly at the memory. "You'll manage. You already have once. I remember it as though it were yesterday. Good luck and simply do what your heart tells you is right."

"Could you please tell it to shout what it wants to tell me? It tends to speak rather unintelligible sometimes…"

"With that sense of humour she'll have managed everything quite well when she returns, don't you think, Albus?" Fletcher simply couldn't keep out of it, could he?

Sariss rolled her eyes while Dumbledore chuckled.

"Alright then, here goes," she said, took a deep breath, squeezed her eyes tightly shut and turned the hourglass…

It felt as though nothing happened at all. _Strange…_

"Who are you?" she heard a voice call.

Cautiously she opened her eyes, preparing herself to disarm whomever it was who had asked so roughly—and found herself still in Dumbledore's office. This time, however, face to face with a supposedly seventeen years younger version of Albus Dumbledore—who was pointing his wand at her, looking rather grim.

"Professor Dumbledore…" Sariss began hesitantly. Could she tell him who she was? Better not. It might change his attitude towards the little girl. "I… I didn't mean to intrude… You see, I… How am supposed to explain this? I suppose I can tell you since you seem to be the only one to fully grasp those things…" She took a deep breath. "It was… _you_—your future self—who gave me this." 

She moved to pull the time-turner over her head and hold it out for him to take a look at. The fine silvery chain of her moon pendant however entangled itself with the time-turner chain, so that Sariss had to extricate it very carefully first. She cursed under her breath.

"You sent me here," she said for emphasis when she'd finally managed to disentangle the two chains.

"Ah, I see." A thoughtful look appeared on Dumbledore's face as he took the small hourglass from her and examined it closely. Then, the old man lowered the wand and put it away. Thankfully. Sariss wouldn't have wanted to be forced to disarm him. She wouldn't have wanted to hurt him since her Disarming spells tended to go a little over the top…

"I'm sorry, but…" she began again, as he started rummaging around in a little box on his desk. It was the same box the 1998-Dumbledore had always had sitting on his desktop. "Professor, you see, I—."

"It's alright, dear. I must apologize for this rude welcome. In these times you can't be careful enough," he muttered, not looking up at her but keeping on rummaging around in the box. "So… No offence."

"None taken. I would have been quite disappointed if you hadn't been on your guard."

"Ah, yes. There it is." He pulled out another time-turner. It looked exactly like the one she had held out for him. A perfect replica. Of course it did. They were the same. 

He took another close look at her hourglass and then his. "Perfectly identical. Save for the date they're set to… That means you really do have my very own time-turner with you… Only my future self could have given it to you. I would rather destroy it than let it fall into the wrong hands, you see? Messing with time can be very dangerous. Since the contemporary item is still in my possession… I suppose I told you that I'd send you back—."

"Professor Dumbledore, listen, please. I'm in a hell of a hurry." She took the time-turner again as he had laid it on the desk. "There's a place I am supposed to have been in today—if that makes any sense at all. There are things that I was supposed to have done today. I need to leave—."

"My future self sent you on a very important mission. Is that it?"

Sariss nodded eagerly. "Yes. It's very important. Lives depend on it. A whole world depends on it. You practically forced me to come here to accomplish my task. It is very urgent and I have a long way before me, past the wards and then—." She spoke very fast.

"I see. Then you'd better get going. You have a broomstick already. That should make it easy to get past the wards quickly so that you can Apparate to wherever it is you're going. Don't tell me. I must not know that," he quickly added, although Sariss had a feeling that he more than suspected where her destination was.

Sariss moved to put the chain of the hourglass over her head again as Dumbledore laid his hand on her arm. She stopped in mid-movement.

"I think you had better give it to me for safe-keeping. We wouldn't want it to be broken, now would we? After all, you'll need me to send you back. And my future self will need this item, too. I wouldn't be able to send you back here if it were destroyed."

"Yes, of course. It'll be safe with you. I'm sure. Here." She gave it to him. Dumbledore carefully placed it into the box. The other hourglass was sitting on his desk, already waiting for her to come back to be returned to her own time.

"Thank you, my dear," he said.

"Anything else, Professor Dumbledore?"

"No—well, there is. You'd better take an additional cloak with you. It's quite cold out there. I know you actually don't need it, but anyway… It would look a bit odd if you were seen out there wearing no winter cloak…" he trailed of, while he searched a trunk that was sitting near the window. "Here," he said after a minute. Sariss had been dancing nervously on the spot all the time. She mustn't be late and it was a long way. Even with Apparating and Disapparating. Hogwarts was unplottable. Ergo, no Apparation. Godric's Hollow must have had wards, too. So there was at least the chance that Apparating wasn't possible, which would mean broomstick again.

Dumbledore handed her a cloak, which she accepted gratefully. It was a bit too long for her taste—she'd have to be careful not to stumble over it—but other than that, it fit perfectly well. She'd blend in if she met someone…

"Now you'd better leave and do whatever it is my future self sent you to do… Well, off you go."

He ushered her out of his office and smiled, when she looked back at him over her shoulder. He knew who she was. Sariss was sure about that. He must have felt the aura around her. It was the same as that of a little girl he knew—a girl that would once be this woman. How else could he have known that it really didn't matter to her if it was cold outside or not, that physical cold didn't affect her that much, that it was just uncomfortable and unpleasant yet couldn't seriously harm her?

He'd known exactly who she was. Sariss would have bet her wand and her signed copies of _The Witching Hour_ and the _Necronomicon_ on it…

She rushed through the corridors, careful not to be detected, but it was late evening anyway. Everyone would be at the Hallowe'en Feast. Her first Hallowe'en Feast in Hogwarts it had been. Sariss remembered it clearly.

_Just a single glance. I'll only take a single glance into the Great Hall. I want to see myself. I want to see them._

**You're out of your mind. Repeat after me: Be careful not to be seen by your past self.**

_I'll be careful. I just want to see them._

**Well… If I think about it… I'd like to see them, too…**

_I'm glad that we agree on this._

Sariss chanced a look through the doorway into the Great Hall, careful not to be in a direct line of view of herself and most other people. But they paid no attention to the doorway anyway. 

There she was. Little Sariss. And seated on the opposite side of the table were Aurora and Rick. The three of them where involved in a conversation. 

Rick had apparently just told that particularly funny joke about a witch, a hag and a nun. Sariss still remembered it, but only vaguely; she had completely forgotten what the punch line had been… 

The two girls almost laughed their heads off at it. Those had been good times—despite everything that had happened before, despite Voldemort being on a rampage throughout the wizarding world…

Footsteps. Someone was coming up the staircase from the dungeons.

If that was Severus… It must be him. The footsteps sounded like his…

_He mustn't see me here._

**Hide!**

Sariss quickly hid in the shadow behind a suit of armour. If only Peeves would stay away, stay wherever it was that he was lurking when—for a change—he didn't cause mayhem.

Sariss found she blended in nicely in the shadows as soon as she'd pulled the hood over her head, thus hiding her face, too. She knew her skin was so pale that it would have stood out clearly, even in the gloom.

Just in time.

Severus Snape rushed right across the Entrance Hall, neither looking left nor right, and slipped out through the Main Entrance.

Had he received Voldemort's calling? Where was he heading for, tonight?

After a minute of waiting so as not to be seen by the Potions master as soon as she left the castle, Sariss scrambled to her feet, clutching the broomstick tightly. When she'd almost reached the door, however, she changed her mind and returned to her post at the doors of the Great Hall, throwing a last look at the people who were assembled there.

The terrible trio were still enjoying themselves. Those moments had been the closest ones to genuine happiness when she'd been a child… Sariss felt a single tear slither down her cheek as she memorized the picture that presented itself to her. If only she could return to the particular day Rick and Rory had been killed… But that would not be right, would it? That would be too close to Dark Magic. No one could even dare to say they knew the consequences—.

**You don't want to be late, do you? **the little voice interrupted her train of thought. 

_Look at me. I was so small once. Look at them, so alive…_

**No use drowning in misery here. You're on a mission. Go! Now!**

Sariss tore her eyes away and then slipped, quiet as a shadow, out through the great doors that closed behind her with a small creaking sound and a dull thudding noise.

The stairs down towards the lawn were a bit slippery since it was snowing lightly. If that would become a snow storm… But then Sariss remembered that there hadn't been a storm back then—tonight, that is.

Nonetheless, it was very cold outside. Halloween, 31st October. In Scotland, that meant snow in the air. Sariss shuddered to think about how much snow there could be in Godric's Hollow. It was situated even farther north than Hogwarts castle, after all. 

She drew the hood of the cloak up over her head to shield herself from the piercingly cold wind, that blew the snowflakes into her eyes; then she mounted the broomstick and took off. 

Once she'd flown past the wards at breakneck speed—she felt she'd have to hurry somehow—she lowered the broom to the ground and dismounted again, sending a silent thanks to whoever invented Cushioning charms as she did so. Then she transfigured her broomstick into a toothpick and put it safely into her pocket and prepared to Apparate as close to Godric's Hollow as was possible at all.

Thankfully, that was very close. Sariss could already see the rooftop of the house from where she stood.

She chanced a look at her wristwatch and started to run.

It was already half past eleven.

As the full moon came out behind a cloud, Sariss could see a black-clad figure running in front of her, standing out sharply against the white of the snow. She increased her speed. Whoever it was would be in her way when she would be… Yes, what?

The figure entered the garden that surrounded the house and dashed across the lawn towards the door (it was wide open), yelling, "Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off—" The voice sounded eerily familiar…

She dashed through the doorway at the very moment as a woman's voice pleaded for the life of her baby. Sariss rushed through the hallway, after the black clad figure and half-gasped, half-shouted, "Don't go in there!" The figure glanced back but didn't stop. 

It was Severus Snape; so that had been his destination… He had been there that night…

"Avada Kedavra!" an all-too-familiar voice hissed and the stairs to the first floor were illuminated in a faint green light for a second.

"He'll kill you, too!" Sariss screamed in a panic. If he were to go in there now…

_Desperate measures…_

She Stunned him at the foot of the staircase to make sure that he wouldn't be in her way without even stopping in her tracks. Then it was up the stairs, through a doorway—the door had been slightly ajar when she threw it open—and she found herself face to face with her worst nightmare. Once again.

Voldemort had his wand raised, pointing at the baby Harry who was looking at him with large eyes, not even realizing that his mother was lying there on the floor next to him, her reddish hair sprawled over the child's leg, not even realizing that he was an orphan now…

Voldemort began to speak the incantation of the Killing Curse again. 

"No!" Sariss gasped.

He whirled around, finally becoming aware of Sariss standing there—and finished the incantation.

From that moment on everything happened so slowly that Sariss might as well be looking at a series of Muggle photographs.

She couldn't will herself to run for cover or anything as she saw the stream of green light hurtle towards her, as she looked into those gleaming red eyes for the third time in her life. The eyes of her worst nightmare they were and their gaze seemed to have frozen her to the spot.

The green ray of light moved towards her. It happened so very slowly.

Sariss seemed to jerk back to reality all of a sudden and threw up her hands in a reflex and closed her eyes, as the curse reached her.

A sharp pain shot through the palm of her left hand and up her arm, spreading through her entire body. She didn't even scream when that happened. It had caught her off-guard. Avada Kedavra wasn't supposed to hurt, was it? It killed immediately. So why did it hurt when you were protected, when you could withstand it?

Sariss opened her eyes, gasping, disorientated, and saw the curse hurtle towards Voldemort. 

**It's going to hit him…**

And it did, hitting the Dark Lord straight into the chest. Sariss strained to keep her eyes open, to stay upright when she felt so drained of everything all of a sudden. She swayed and had to hold on to the doorpost.

She could see his profile. He looked mildly surprised and winced and groaned in pain, clutching his long spidery hand to the spot he had been hit in, and staggered back, his hands trembling for a second or so. 

She thought he'd drop his wand any second now—but he didn't. He recovered quickly and gave her an evil smile.

_He's not defeated… _

**He'll kill the boy…**

_I failed…_

"I am immortal!" he screeched triumphantly, casting the curse for a second time, this time at Harry Potter.

"No!" Sariss moaned weakly.

The glowing green curse hurtled towards the boy who curiously observed the scene. Sariss only hoped it would bounce off his forehead any second… And it did, rebounding off the little boy's forehead—Harry only looked at it curiously, not knowing that it meant instant death to almost everybody else in the world—and also hurtling towards Voldemort. This curse, too, hit him…

A look of panicky surprise crossed his distorted features, as he turned his face towards Sariss once more, staggered towards her and dropped his wand, lacking the strength to hold it any longer. And then a terrible piercing scream erupted from his throat. Every fibre in Sariss's body seemed to be vibrating with it. 

Shaking from head to toe, she covered her ears to block out the noise and dropped to her knees, screaming with pain and fear, as the Dark Lord's body disintegrated before her very eyes and a fleeting shadow passed over her, the scream still echoing around the room as the whole house started trembling, cracks appearing in the walls.

"No, stop it!" Sariss screamed, knowing perfectly well that she was the one who caused this, but couldn't. She simply couldn't rein the powers in. It had been too much. Her whole body was thudding with pain, Avada Kedavra rushing through her veins. Her palm was bleeding. She could feel the blood growing sticky as it clotted and began to dry.

Little Harry was looking around wildly, not knowing what was happening, scared and crying now.

More and more debris came down upon the two of them. Sariss crawled towards him, pulling him a little towards the doorway, away from the body of his mother, and threw herself over the boy to shield him from the larger pieces of plaster that had started to come down from the ceiling.

She had reached the boy just in time since the roof started to cave in now, to come down on them, and the house began to tremble even more strongly. It would collapse within seconds. "Please… make it stop," Sariss whispered despairingly. Severus was lying at the foot of the stairs, Stunned. He mustn't get hurt either. Yet now the little boy who snuggled into her, his hands clutching her robes, was more of a priority, wasn't he? Oh, if only she could tear herself in two…

Even more debris fell down on them, showering them in little splinters of wood and plaster. Luckily, there hadn't been any bigger parts—yet.

Sariss felt a sharp pain on the side of her head. Then there was darkness. She lost consciousness when the floor gave in beneath them…

When Sariss regained consciousness, the first thing she grew aware of was the dull thudding of her head. She blinked slowly and groaned softly. Every single heartbeat seemed to hurt, pounding in her head, her brain having seemingly been replaced with her heart. Raising her hand towards the spot where it hurt the most, she noticed that her hair was sticky with blood. Luckily, there came no fresh blood when she tentatively touched the wound and forced her eyes to focus on her bloodstained hand. She would have hated to do a Healing charm herself when she couldn't even see how bad the wound was. After all, she was no trained mediwitch. If she overdid it… Better not. It wasn't bleeding anymore and Sariss didn't feel too dizzy either. So there wasn't really a problem.

Harry, too, seemed no worse for wear; he was awake, blinking up at her and sneezing from time to time. The soot hadn't even settled yet. Sariss couldn't have been knocked out for very long a time. The boy was fine. He was alive. Mission accomplished.

He didn't even seem to have realized that something had been seriously wrong. 

She pulled out her wand and muttered a quick "Lumos!" so that she could examine the child more thoroughly.

Considering the dust-hung air, it wasn't much, but it helped a little.

One of Harry's small hands clutched her robe, as she took a close look at him. The other was tightly balled into a fist. He sneezed again and wrinkled and rubbed his nose. Cute. And perfectly fine, except for his forehead. The only spot on his body that had been hurt. There was a bit of blood, too, but really not much. Sariss wiped it away with a comparatively clean end of her cloak. This would be the lightning bolt scar that would make him famous.

Apparently, it didn't even hurt since he was smiling and making a sound that sounded suspiciously like "Mummy!" It brought tears to her eyes. She blinked them back. "Sorry, little one," she managed. "I'm not your mum. Your mum… has gone to heaven—just like mine." His mother's body was covered with debris, hardly noticeable in the darkness. Sariss was almost glad that was so. She'd never exactly liked the way dead people looked like. Who in his right mind would anyway? The first dead human being Sariss had ever seen had been her mother and the situation bore so many eerie resemblances to the one she had just almost-witnessed that Sariss felt she would have imagined looking into her mother's face if she had looked at Harry's mother. 

Slowly and carefully, she got up and tried her feet. They worked just fine. She hadn't been hurt except for the wound on her head, which didn't seem too bad. Then she lifted the boy up and carried him towards his cradle—it had miraculously been only a little damaged—where she sat him down as soon as she had banished the rubble. Hagrid would come soon and take care of the little one. There was nothing else to do now.

**Haven't you forgotten something?**

_What should I have forgotten?_

**Let me be more specific. Haven't you forgotten someone?**

_I… Severus!_

**Exactly.**

_Where is he? Oh, dear, what if… He mustn't have been hurt. I would know if he had been hurt back then…_

**He was at the foot of the stairs, dear.**

_I knew that._

**Sure you did.**

_I just hope he's alright…_

Sariss stumbled over the rubble, looking for him. It was so very dark. The wand just didn't provide enough light. The dancing flakes of dust and soot seemed to mock her as they enveloped her like tangible mist, stinging her eyes.

She cursed under her breath.

Someone must have heard it, since it was exactly in that moment that the full amount of the devastation became clearly visible when the clouds parted once more and the rather large and exceptionally silvery pale full moon came to her assistance, shining as brightly as she could ever have hoped, illuminating the scene.

There was a doorpost still standing. A beam had fallen on it, forming a structure that reminded Sariss of a tent. She just hoped that had been the place where Severus had fallen earlier. She couldn't seem to remember where everything in this house had been, since there wasn't the slightest resemblance between the heaps of remains a cloud of dust hung over and the building she had entered earlier that night. 

Sariss rushed over towards the tent-like structure, cursing again when she stumbled over her cloak and coughing when she accidentally inhaled the dust. Quickly, she shoved a heavy oak shelf out of her way as well as a chest of drawers that had been quite damaged, too.

There he lay. She had found him. Hopefully he was only unconscious. Sariss knelt down and pressed her hand against the pulse on his throat. His skin was reasonably warm and his heartbeat slow but steady. Definitely unconscious. Her Stunning spells had always been ones that were not to be despised. But otherwise, he was perfectly fine. 

She gently smoothed his hair out of his face. 

He looked so… young—just as he'd looked when he had taught the little girl Sariss—but other than that, it was her Severus. She pulled him out of the debris and away from the remnants of the house into the shadows of the trees and bushes that stood in a corner of the garden, totally unaffected by the catastrophe that had just occurred. 

If he were to be found here by Sirius Black or Hagrid or anyone else who might come here… 

She kissed his sooty cheek. "I'll see you in seventeen years, Severus. You'll see me in Potions class, but you won't even recognize me…" she whispered. "You won't know that you're to become the love of this little girl's life in quite a few years…"

She had wanted to revive him and then leave, but Harry had started wailing now. He was all alone, in he cold, in the darkness of the night…

Sariss knew she must go, but she couldn't leave the child. All alone… He was cold and scared, so afraid, crying for his mummy and daddy…

So she dashed back to him.

"Shh. No need to cry, Harry, little one. Hagrid will be here soon. You're going to be fine."

She took off the cloak and wrapped it around him. It really was ghastly cold. But he wouldn't stop crying. Perhaps the child had realized what had happened, who could tell? Thus, Sariss picked him up and cradled him in her arms, rocking him lightly, thinking that he might fall asleep soon so that she could leave without being seen, before…

There was a noise. Heavy footsteps. And they were coming closer… 

Sariss popped the baby back into the cradle and hid behind a nearby set of bushes—she would have liked to be farther away from the house, preferably where she had laid Severus down, but she wouldn't have managed that as quickly as necessary and not without making a noise that could attract Hagrid's attention. From where she was now, she could see Hagrid making his way through the trees and across the lawn towards the now quiet boy. He dropped the broomstick he had been clutching and gently lifted Harry up and took a close at him. Then he sadly shook his head and cradled him in his arms to keep him warm, retreating from the remains of the house.

The sound of a—Sariss looked up into the night sky—a motorcycle invaded the air now.

Sirius Black.

The motorcycle touched the ground. It's rider jumped off it, letting it fall into the snow, carelessly, beyond caring for such trivialities as the state of a thing when there were dead friends. He knew it. Sariss could see it in his face. He stood at the fence that surrounded the garden, staring at the sorry remains of his friends' house, wide-eyed and unfocused. Then his gaze fell on the large figure that was making his way out of the rubble.

Black didn't even reach for his wand. He didn't speak either. He just stood there, numb with shock.

Hagrid walked towards him and showed Harry to him, saying something Sariss couldn't understand from where she was but she could see everything very clearly now that the soot had settled a bit and the moon was still shining brightly, its light reflected by the snow. 

Black shook his head, replying something, and covered his eyes with a hand, his shoulders heaving.

The giant awkwardly patted Black's shoulder, comforting him, saying something that made Black look up at him. Black looked at the bundle Hagrid was holding in his arms and tentatively reached out to touch the little boy, smiling sadly, motioning for Hagrid to let him take the baby Harry. Hagrid shook his head and said something again. Black bowed his head in defeat, and Hagrid moved to leave, preparing himself to mount his broomstick. 

However, Black held him back. He shook his head and pointed towards his motorcycle. Hagrid spoke to him once more and Black nodded 'yes' and replied. Together they walked over to where the fallen motorcycle lay. The giant easily picked it up and mounted it. It was almost too small for him but much more comfortable than a broom when you had a baby with you.

A last pat on the, by comparison, small man's shoulder and Hagrid was gone.

Black watched him disappear into the night sky, picked up the broomstick and turned to leave.

Sariss, too, turned to leave her post, intending to head towards Severus when exactly the thing happened she didn't need at all. She trod on a branch…

The crack pierced the silence like the sound of a cannon going off.

_Damn._

**I agree with you fully.**

_Perhaps he didn't notice?_

**You wish.**

Sariss froze when Black came in her direction, unfortunately moving between her and the place Severus was and then walking towards where she had been hiding.

**Better show yourself before he finds you and leaps to conclusions.**

_For once, I agree with you. He'll see me either way. I can't just Stun him. I've done too many things already._

**Stunning Severus, you mean?**

_Right._

**Perhaps you were supposed to do that. Dumbledore said he wouldn't tell you more because he feared that you'd act differently, do you remember?**

_He also said I should listen to what my heart tells me…_

**What does it tell you?**

_I should warn Black. In a few days, he'll be going to Azkaban. An innocent man. He doesn't deserve that._

**You're changing something here. If he doesn't go to Azkaban…**

_The boy will have a godfather to take care of him. I wish I had had a godfather._

**You had Dumbledore.**

_You're right. The next best thing. And I'm glad he took care of me. But the boy is going to grow up among Muggles. Not a tinge of magic in that branch of his family. The heir of Gryffindor growing up among Muggles, not knowing that he's a wizard… I'll warn Black._

**Be at least a bit subtle, alright? Don't tell him the whole story. For once in your life, don't provide more information than strictly necessary.**

_I'll just tell him to be careful, alright?_

Sariss slowly made her way out of the shadows. Her clothes were soaked and already freezing to her skin. She didn't care. Walking very slowly in his direction so as not to startle him—he might stun her accidentally—she didn't avoid making small noises. He must grow aware of her gradually…

She sensed the moment when he saw her. Curiosity, confusion, fear, fury. 

"Who are you?" he asked. His voice was shaking.

Sariss stepped closer, raising her hands so he could see that she was not armed, no threat to him. Well, at least not to his knowledge.

"Who are you?" he repeated. Sariss could see that he had been crying. His wet cheeks were clearly visible in the silvery moonlight.

"I mean you no harm," she said softly. "I am a friend. You weren't supposed to see me. I know I should have Stunned you or whatever, but I don't want to do that as long as I can avoid it."

"If you are a friend, then what are you doing here? Why didn't you prevent this from happening?" he shouted the last few words.

"I was too late to save them all. But I was just in time to—" Sariss broke of. She had almost given away her mission.

"What?"

"I can't tell you. You never saw me here, do you understand? No one would believe you anyway if you told them about me. No one knows I was here."

"Are you in league with—?"

"I am not in league with Voldemort or rather I wasn't. He's gone. Hagrid must have shown you the curse scar."

"You saw what happened?"

"Sort of."

"What—?"

"Listen. I cannot—must not—give you the answers you're looking for. You know everything that is of importance. And no matter what else you ask me—."

"So you want me to believe that you had nothing to do with this?"

"I have nothing to do with the deaths of your friends," Sariss said, hoping she sounded as honest as she was.

"Then why were you hiding?"

He still pointed his wand at her. This was unnerving. He was unnerving.

"Will you stop bombarding me with questions I am forbidden to answer?"

He opened his mouth again—most likely to ask another question.

Sariss Summoned his wand. It soared out of his hand and into hers. "Alright. Why is it that you men always have to know everything?" she said. "Here. Take it back." She held the wand out for him to take. "Enough demonstration that I'm on your side?" He only stared at her as he accepted the wand, pocketed it and nodded slightly. "Good. Now listen. There's one thing I have decided to tell you no matter what the consequences of it might be."

"What is that?" he asked. Apparently he had decided that she did mean no harm.

"Don't do anything rash, Sirius Black. Think before you act," she said and walked past him in direction to where Severus was hidden.

"That's it? Fat lot of help that is—," he muttered. "Wait a second!" he then called after her. "How do you know my name?"

"You don't know me," Sariss answered, turning around, "but I do know you. I know who you are. That must be enough of an answer. Now leave this place. Hagrid will alert Dumbledore and the Aurors to take care of… all of this. Farewell and remember my advice: Think before you act. If you don't, you're going to regret it. Go now."

He said no more. He simply picked up the broomstick once more—he must have dropped it a few minutes back—mounted it and flew away. He'd gone after Pettigrew, Sariss remembered. Would he do that now, too? Would he think before acting? Would he find another way?

**Aren't you a bit too occupied with Black?**

_I haven't forgotten Severus if that's what you mean. He's well protected from the wind where I laid him down._

**If you say so.**

Sariss went to the spot where Severus lay, still out cold. Her Stunning spells had always been on the long-lasting side. But he was pretty much alive although very cold. He'd be freezing as soon as she had revived him. Thus, she cast a very careful and weak Warming spell on him. He'd catch himself a cold otherwise or perhaps even the flu. If the latter were the case, Potions lessons wouldn't go so smoothly the following week. Sariss didn't remember him being ill which was a good thing. Wizarding medicine had as of yet not found a potion or spell that would hex the flu off of you. A cold was no problem. Pepper-up potion did the trick. But a flu…

Then she pressed another kiss on his forehead. "See you soon, Severus. Enervate!" she whispered, concentrating on letting him wake up slowly. He began to stir immediately and Sariss dashed away and Disapparated as soon as possible. 

Apart from the incident with Black, this had gone rather smoothly.

Sariss Apparated near the Shrieking Shack. She transfigured the toothpick back into her broomstick and flew back towards Hogwarts castle. Fast. She must not be seen by Severus of all people. He, too, would be on his way back there by now. 

It must have been around two or three in the morning or so when she pushed open the great doors of the castle and dashed up the staircase, heading for the third floor, where the stone gargoyle usually guarded the entrance to Dumbledore's office. Tonight it didn't. Dumbledore must have left it open for her to be able to return without having to shout the names of sweets at the top of her lungs.

Sariss felt tired now that the adrenaline rush began to subside. Fortunately, the staircase carried her up to the office door of its own accord. Very useful that feature was indeed.

The moment Sariss reached the top, Dumbledore opened the door from the inside. He must have been waiting for her already.

"Have you accomplished what you came here for?" he asked, scanning her appearance but not commentating on it. 

"I accomplished… something. I don't know if I did it as it was intended, but I did _something_." 

He nodded, absent-mindedly fingering the little hourglass he held in his hands. "I am very much looking forward to talking to you about this in a few years…"

"Seventeen years. Well, almost. By the way, you'll get your cloak back, I'm sure. I used it to—." She looked sheepishly at the headmaster. "I'm not sure if you're supposed to know that. But you will learn it anyway when you get your cloak back. So there's no need to explain, is there?"

"I'm a patient man, my dear. I think I can wait, even if it's seventeen years. Good to know that I'll still be there."

"You will, and for much longer than that, I'm sure."

"Alright then, time to send you back, isn't it?"

Sariss nodded.

"When would you like to arrive in this office again?" he asked casually, making to set the hourglass to the right date.

"Er… Well, the date was… is… whatever… 17th April 1998, please. Some time in the late afternoon it was… You'd better set the hourglass to around six… no, better half past six. I wouldn't want to meet myself. I'd give myself a nasty shock if I saw myself in the state I must be in."

"A decent bath and a good night's sleep can do wonders," Dumbledore said with a small smile, his eyes twinkling behind his spectacles, and handed her the time-turner.

"Thank you, headmaster. Even if you probably have no idea what for yet. But—thank you," Sariss said, putting the chain over her head, the hourglass dangling a bit before she took hold of it. "And take good care of Severus for me, will you? He might be more than a bit confused once he returns…"

"It was a pleasure meeting you," Dumbledore replied with another smile. And as she turned the hourglass and the world around her started whirling, she thought she heard him add, "Sariss." But that might have only been her imagination…

**Next chapter:**

Sariss asks, Severus replies and vice versa. The _true_ reason why Severus always despised Sirius. And a pair of green eyes.


	28. The Past Is Gone

**Author's note: Thanks go to **Romm** and **shasjin-saber**. And these thanks are much bigger than the usual ones because this story is now terribly off-canon. So… *huggles her latest reviews***

Chapter 27: The Past is Gone

**_No regrets or promises  
The past is gone  
But you can still be free  
If time will set you free_**

_—__Savage__Garden__: You can still be free_

After a few seconds, the world slammed back into focus. She found herself back in Dumbledore's present office. She could only tell so because Black, Lupin and Fletcher were there.

Nobody spoke at first. They all just looked at her. Dumbledore walked to his desk, opened a box that was sitting there—it was the same one he had pulled the time-turner out of seventeen years ago—and this time he pulled out a necklace—with a moon-shaped pendant dangling from it.

As she saw this, her hands flew to her throat. Her necklace was not there. 

Dumbledore smiled and she couldn't help smiling back. "That's how I knew. Well, that and the fact that you were there that night and had given my cloak to Harry, that is. But when the little girl you once were walked up to me and asked me to help her split the perfectly round pendant in that particular way—I already knew what it was supposed to look like, since I had one part—and you chose exactly that part for yourself, I knew it had been you. I had suspected it for years, more than suspected actually, but that had been the day I knew for certain. One hundred percent."

"I hadn't even noticed that I'd lost it," Sariss mused softly.

"You had other things on your mind, after all. You look terrible if I dare say so. I can't remember telling you that so long ago—but I might just be getting old and forgetful…"

"You dare say so. It must be true. If I look the way I feel… No comment on that. May I have my pendant back?"

"Yes, of course." Dumbledore handed it to her. He had repaired the fragile lock. So Sariss put the chain carefully into its respective place. She hadn't taken it off for how long? Fifteen years or so? "Little Harry almost wouldn't let us take it from him. He was clutching it very tightly in his small fist."

"All of this was so weird," Sariss muttered. "Like a dream. Like a nightmare…"

Sirius Black walked towards her then. He must recognize her now that she was sooty and her clothes were quite a bit worse for wear—literally—the blood on her face. "So it _was_ you. I wouldn't believe Dumbledore at first when he asked me if I had seen someone who didn't belong there. I thought I'd seen you before when you came in but I wasn't sure if it really was you. You looked as though a house had come down on you, just like you do now, and your eyes were different—." 

"What?" Sariss asked.

_What's wrong with my eyes?_

**Yeah, what's wrong with our eyes?**

_I don't have the slightest idea._

"—they were as they are now."

"What's wrong with my eyes? Dumbledore—I mean the past Dumbledore—wasn't commentating on them at—."

"Sariss," the headmaster began. "It seems that Avada Kedavra affects your eyes when—."

"What's up with my eyes?" Sariss repeated.

"They're green," Black said.

"I know that," Sariss snapped. "They always were mostly greenish."

"No, my dear," Dumbledore said. "It seems that the curse made them really green, almost as green as Mr Potter's—."

Black interrupted him. "But Harry always had green eyes, just like his mother. Even before the curse hit him, they were green. And I can't see why they should turn green simply because of watching—."

"That might be the reason why we didn't notice that change," the headmaster interrupted Black in turn.

"I need to see my eyes," Sariss said, raising her wand hand to conjure up a mirror.

Black, however, grabbed her wrist. "Oh my goodness." He wiped the blood away to see better. 

"Ouch!" She winced and made to pull her hand out of his grasp.

"Look at that! A lightning bolt scar…" he whispered in awe.

Fletcher and Lupin rushed to her side, too. "How…" they began as one.

"I already said that Avada Kedavra apparently affects the eyes. Had you let me continue I would have been able to tell you that Sariss had been hit with the curse," Dumbledore explained. "Isn't that so, my dear?"

"Quite so, gentlemen," Sariss said, stunned that Dumbledore seemed to know everything without having to be told. "Voldemort hurled the curse at me, when I dashed into the room. I tried to shield myself—stupid thing to even try, now that I think about it (which I quite obviously didn't)—and it bounced off my hand. It hit him, but didn't hurt him. At least not obviously. Then he cast another curse at Harry—and it bounced off him, too… The rest is history."

Black pulled out a handkerchief and brought it to her face, while Lupin seemed completely speechless, a very sad look on his face. 

Sariss realized something. "Hallowe'en night 1981 was a full moon," she stated softly. 

"I curse the day the werewolf bit me. Everything would have turned out different if I had been there," he whispered bitterly. "I would have been there if—."

"I was there, Mr Lupin," Sariss interrupted him. "I don't think you could have saved them. You would have died along with them. But you could have beaten some sense into the head of our Azkaban convict here." Fletcher sniggered at that. The man's sense of humour had always been pure acid. "You appear so calm compared to him and most other people," she said, flinching as Black touched the wound on the side of her head.

"You must have bumped your head really badly," he explained unnecessarily and rubbed her cheek with the hanky. If Sariss squirted, she could see that the cloth was stained dark red by now.

Black continued. "I was never able to thank you for trying to keep me from doing something stupid. I should have listened…"

Sariss pulled Sirius Black's hands away to keep him from rubbing her face so furiously.

"I would have expressed it clearer if I could," she said, thinking she'd keep him from finishing the task he'd set himself—namely rubbing her cheek in a way that would soon make sure that the blood was not only on it but bleeding from it—by simply speaking what was on her mind. "I hoped you'd figure it out on your own. I thought I had interfered too much already. I knew what would happen in the future but since nobody knew what really happened… I wanted to…. I'm sorry. I failed."

"You tried. Nothing you could have said would have kept me from doing what I did. I was young and foolish and only thinking about how to get Peter back for betraying us all. For betraying James and Lily and for making me believe that Remus had been the traitor and for making Remus and the rest of the wizarding world believe that I had been."

"Can't be changed," Lupin said quietly. "Some things are bound to happen no matter what you do to try and make them undone."

He should know. Being bitten by a werewolf was one of those things. It just happened. Making friends and losing them again… It just happened. Especially when the times were dark…

_Some things are simply destined to be, no matter how much it hurts._

Apparently, Sariss had just recently developed a deeper understanding of Divination. Some things were meant to be. And it was good to know what might be coming. That's what crystal balls, stargazing and prophecies were there for… 

"Now, little one, you should know that people with a lightning bolt scar tend to become quite famous," Fletcher said casually. "Are you up to photo sessions and autograph requests?"

Sariss rolled her eyes. "I think I can live without that. Thank you very much. And there's no one who knows about my involvement. It was the little boy who became famous. My intervention was just a twist of fate or something. A very nasty twist. At least for me."

"Now that I think about it… You made the house cave in, didn't you?" he smirked. "In retrospect, it looked like your handiwork…"

"Would you please stop it, Fletcher? You're getting really annoying, rubbing it in, you know?" Sariss said. "My… er… tendency to make those things happen is really not very funny. So stop it before I _accidentally_ make something explode—right at you."

"Someone has to be the annoying guy. Sirius is the innocent convict, the guilt-ridden guy, Albus is the boss, Remus is the quiet and sensible type and I'm the one trying to improve the mood and getting shot because of it."

"You've been working around Muggles too often, Fletcher. Spent too much time in movie theatres, didn't you?" Black grinned suddenly. Apparently, he could take a joke about things like that by now. And a smile tugged at the corners of Lupin's mouth, too. 

They must be used to Fletcher's sense of humour. It took a while but… well… this was what Fletcher was like when there wasn't something very serious happening—like the occasion Sariss had met him first. When he had taken care of her mother's dead body, carrying it away. The expression on his face back then… His sense of humour helped him keep his sanity in situations like this, helped him push those images in the back of his mind where they wouldn't haunt him…

He simply shrugged at Black's comment.

Dumbledore interrupted the bickering. "Sariss," he said calmly.

He approached her, took her left hand—her wand hand—turned it around and ran a finger along the wound that would become a scar if it wasn't treated with a proper Healing Spell or Potion very soon. "I think you should keep the scar. I said this once before: They can come in handy sometimes like the one near my knee—looks like a plan of the London Underground… But do not think you failed. Now we know what happened that fateful Hallowe'en night. This scar now connects you to Harry somehow. Everything is as it should be… By the way, my past self has been very pleased to meet you… very pleased indeed…" he gently patted her hand, smiling as he did so.

"That I wouldn't turn out a Dark Witch?" Sariss asked.

"Yes… Among other things…" the old man's smile broadened a bit.

"Perhaps you should go see Madam Pomfrey," Remus Lupin spoke up once more.

"I'm alright, honestly," Sariss answered, and it was true. "I'm just still a bit confused about this whole time-turner thingy. I'll never quite understand how the past and the future intersect." She smirked at Dumbledore and shrugged. "It almost looks as though you were the only one to grasp the meaning of the time-space-continuum or whatever it's called."

He just smiled. _Typical.__ This is what Dumbledore does… Smile. Smile and twinkle… _But then he replied anyway.

"I understand that this interlude has mixed up your… _schedule_ quite a bit… You and Severus will have to catch up on it again, I presume." Sariss rolled her eyes at the look Dumbledore gave her over the rim of his glasses. She just couldn't get used to the fact that Dumbledore regarded her and Severus as an item (which they actually were…); that he had—as she strongly suspected—had quite something to do with all those _accidents_, for example the mistletoe and the dance. That would be so like him… Nothing in this castle happened without him at least suspecting something. He had known it since when she had met him in the past. He had known since then that Sariss and Severus would need each other one day. Sariss had more than implied it to him herself and he had just been trying to speed things up a bit… "He will also be glad that the riddles are being solved now." 

_Severus__ must have told him that someone had been there—and that certain someone had Stunned him, preventing him from entering the first floor room…_

**Oh joy. You do realize that Severus is going to want to be told the whole story?**

_I do, unfortunately. But I've got to tell him anyway. It's a matter of trust. And there are some things I want to ask him…_

**Like why he had been there?**

_Among other things…__ And there's already some kind of secret that I'm keeping from him and he knows it. He stopped asking me when I told him to, remember? _

**The prophecy?******

_Right.___

**But it's not really a secret, is it?**

_Depends…_

**So you have come to the conclusion that it really could—**

_I'm not going to fill anybody in on my guesswork. They'd think I had gone insane if I did. I think so myself…_

"You know, I really get more tired of secrets by the minute. Unless they are my own, of course," she said out-loud.

"No more secrets to be kept from you on my part. And for once you're the one who knows more than Severus does…"

Sariss sighed inwardly. Was there anything you could keep from Dumbledore? He seemed to at least suspect everything…

And there was something else… Did she just imagine all those little emphasises and insinuations regarding the infamous 'Severus and Sariss'-thingy or was Dumbledore actually enjoying to, subtly, rub the whole… situation… with Severus in her face? Not that she would mind… Dumbledore was worse than a father… And far better at the same time… 

She turned to leave.

"Good day, gentlemen, or is it already evening?"

"It's something in-between I'd say," Dumbledore smiled, his usual sparkle in his eyes. "You weren't gone for very long after all. However, Severus might be getting worried about you if you do not show up again soon."

"Well, then, I'll leave the gentlemen free to attend to their business—important business, that is, isn't it?" The assembled people nodded gravely. "I hope to see you again under more pleasant circumstances, Messrs Lupin, Black, Fletcher." She curtly nodded at either one of them.

"I don't understand what she sees in him—," Sirius muttered to Remus Lupin, but Sariss heard it. 

"I don't understand what he sees in me," she said, biting her lip. She knew her eyes must be glittering, her cheeks going a, perhaps, lovely telltale shade of pink, as she said this. 

Lupin shrugged. "Must be love, huh?"

Sirius flinched visibly. Apparently, 'Snape' and 'love' were two words that hadn't occurred to him to be used collectively. Sariss had to bite back laughter at that. She had a distinct feeling that there were quite some other words that had occurred to neither Lupin nor Black in connection with 'Snape.' If they knew…

That thought brought her back to the subject at hand. "Alright then. Gentlemen, it has been a pleasure meeting you—" she glanced at Fletcher and Black, "—once again. Oh and… I'd rather not use the fireplace now, if you don't mind, Professor Dumbledore, I really do hate Floo powder. I'd rather walk back—down to the dungeons," she drawled the last few words only to demonstrate that she had noticed Dumbledore's innuendoes. "After all, it has been seventeen years since I last saw Severus…" And to herself she added, _'And I learnt quite a lot about him in the meantime… No more secrets… This man has already been a walking and talking secret seventeen years ago. But I have a few theories… I wonder if I hit the nail on the head…'_

She turned, walked towards the door, and as she turned the handle, she nodded to Dumbledore who nodded back and turned towards the three men, who had very expectant expressions on their faces, beginning, to speak. "Now that we have secured the past we must take care of the present and future. I'd like to hear your reports, later. But first, _I_ have something to report. It has come to my knowledge…"

**~*~*~**

Sariss walked along the corridors, down the staircases, skipping the trick steps automatically, thinking about everything and nothing at the same time. Funny how everything in this castle changed so much yet the trick steps stayed firmly where they were… 

After a few minutes, she reached the door to Severus's chambers. Taking a deep breath, she entered and found him in his study. He sat behind his desk, absorbed in a book, a thoughtful expression on his face, his chin resting on his fist. As she entered the room, he looked up. 

Sariss suddenly realized that she must look pretty dreadful, even though the blood should have been wiped away quite nicely. Her hand had stopped bleeding in Dumbledore's office already; the wound hadn't been too deep. It had just been bleeding quite badly when she had been injured; it had looked worse than it actually was.

Severus jumped to his feet at the sight of her. The book he had been reading fell to the ground with a dull thud as he made his way around his desk towards her.

"Sariss! What have you done now? You couldn't have been gone for more than two hours. Less, if you ask me…" He smoothed her hair back from her face. Apparently, there must still be some dried blood on her face—and there was the thing with her eyes. She'd completely forgotten about them with all those other things she had on her mind. "What happened in Dumbledore's office? Are you injured? Shall I—," he asked gravely. 

"It's nothing, really," she quickly interrupted him. "The only thing that's a bit worse for wear is my hand, but—," she stopped talking when Severus reached for her hand. She hastily drew it away.

"What is it now?" Severus sounded exasperated. No wonder when one kept in mind the last time she'd drawn her hand away, flinched as he'd touched her…

Sariss shook her head and gave him a slight smile to indicate that it had nothing to do with him.

"What… What's happened to your eyes?" he stuttered. "They—."

"Severus," she said calmly. "Sit down." She walked towards the settee, sat down herself and indicated the empty space next to her. "Come on. I'll explain everything that has happened…"

She reached out her hand to him. He walked towards her, took her hand—her right hand; the one without the scar—and let himself be drawn down onto the settee.

"So? What happened in Dumbledore's office?"

"A great part of what happened, didn't happen in his office…" she began, thinking hard how she should put the events into words. "I missed you," she said finally, gently stroking his hand. He had so beautiful hands, hands she hadn't seen or held for seventeen years if one liked to split hairs…

"You've been gone for hardly an hour, Sariss," he said in a voice that made clear that he was just about to believe she'd lost her mind.

"No," she said. "For you it may have been only an hour. For me it was seventeen years backwards and seventeen years forwards again." She could see it dawning on him. 

"You used a time-turner to travel back in time? To… seventeen years ago? To…"

"The night Voldemort fell."

"You couldn't have been there. I would have seen you…" he began, but then he shook his head. "No, I wouldn't. I didn't make it. I tried to warn Lily, but just as I wanted to climb up the stairs I was Stunned by a…"

Sariss could see the pieces of the puzzle falling into place on Severus Snape's face. "It was you!" He jumped up and started pacing back and forth, as he said this. "You did it, didn't you? You Stunned me! Why did you do this? I might have saved her, saved them both!" He ran his hands through his hair.

"You couldn't." Sariss stood up, too, following him. Back and forth. Back and forth; with long strides. "You would have died if I hadn't come and Stunned you before—."

"You don't know that!" he shouted.

"I _do_ know it!" she shouted back and grabbed him firmly by his arm so he would finally stop this incredibly annoying back and forth business. And then she lifted her hand, the one with the wound that would become a lightning bolt shaped scar, and revealed it to him. A look of shock but also understanding crossed his face. "See?" she said softly. "If you had entered that room he would have killed you. He would have killed me, too, if my mother hadn't died for me, if he hadn't—." 

"Provided you with the power to withstand Avada Kedavra much better than he himself ever could," Severus Snape whispered, quoting the Dark Lord's words almost exactly as he'd once said them to her, on a dark day, a day she would rather not remember…

"Yes." 

Severus took her hand, running a fingertip gently over the injury. "How did it happen? I mean, what happened at all?" He sounded confused, his voice so different from the one he had used just a minute ago, so… small. Sariss had never heard him speak so softly.

She led him back to the settee.

"It's almost ridiculously simple. It was an accident…" she continued the account of things. "He was about to cast Avada Kedavra on little Harry—if he had cast it, it would have bounced off the boy, I'm sure about this, but it wouldn't have been enough. It would have hit Voldemort but not destroyed him. So, I guess, my being there had the sole purpose to get it right. The first curse intended for Harry was aimed at me instead. I didn't think at all at this moment. I didn't think about the fact that this was Avada Kedavra, the Killing Curse itself! I just raised my hands, I don't even know why… it was a reflex, I paid no attention to what I was doing… and it hit me. It hurt, Severus, it hurt so much that I made the house break apart when I couldn't bear it any longer… but not before the curse flew from my hand towards Voldemort. It struck him straight in the chest. He was not really impressed by it…" Sariss said sarcastically.

"And the little baby I was supposed to have saved was then hit with a second Killing curse Voldemort cast only a few seconds or not even that long a time after he had been hit with the curse that had rebounded off me. I almost thought that all was lost… But the curse bounced back from him, too… I was so glad that it did, even though I knew that it had bounced off seventeen years ago. I had been so afraid I'd mess everything up by my sheer presence—stupid, really… And then it hit Voldemort, too. He screamed, a piercing scream, a scream I fear I am going to remember for the rest of my life… And I screamed, too—the pain, his screaming, his shadow that passed over me… I must have lost consciousness at that point. When I woke up, there was little Harry smiling up at me as if nothing had happened at all. I can't remember crawling towards him… But I must have… He said something like "Mummy" and I had to tell him that his mother wasn't there…"

"Lily."

_The way he said it… _

**A thousand words couldn't be more expressive than those two syllables…**

_Those two syllables and a few more, some of which he just said, some of which he uttered a very long time ago…_

"You were in love with her, weren't you?" Sariss whispered.

This seemed to startle him quite a bit. "Sariss, I—" 

"An honest answer. I know it. I heard the desperation in your voice as you entered the house and called out to her. And I can read between the lines very well. You just said you could have saved _her_, them both…" she said. "I want to hear it from you."

"Sariss…" he sighed, running his hand through his hair again. "Yes, yes, I was in love with her. I don't want to talk about this. I don't even want to think about this. Don't make me remember things I cannot change, things I cannot make undone."

"If you loved her—why do you dislike Harry Potter so immensely? It can't be only for the reason that his father saved you from this joke Sirius Black had devised… that you didn't want to owe him…" she trailed off, thinking hard. Then, as he hadn't answered, she said, "That's it, isn't it…" The more she thought about it the more of the pieces of the puzzle Severus Snape was to her fell into their respective places…

"What do you mean?" he asked, a tinge of wariness in his voice. 

_I've got you now, Severus Snape. Check mate._

**You're going to hit another nerve there—and I genuinely fear it will not only be one of his…**__

Sariss ignored the warning voice in her head. "You dislike him so much because Lily Potter gave her life so Harry would live… because the boy lived when she had to die… You keep blaming the boy for her death, because if there had been no Harry…" she trailed off, her voice having become very soft, and hesitating before she continued thoughtfully, more talking to herself than to Severus now, as the realization sank in, "And every time you look at him you see his mother's eyes in the face of James Potter who stole Lily from you…"

"Maybe," he whispered barely audibly. Coming from him this was a clear 'yes.'

He'd turned his face away from her, not looking into her eyes as he'd confessed what was unmistakeably the truth. 

_He could not have her—and then, as if that hadn't been enough already, he tried but could not even save her… _

**He holds his grudges for far too long a time, don't you think?**

_Most of all the grudges against himself.___

**Snapes**** don't settle old scores…**

_They harbour them…_

**And there's—**

"What happened then?" he spoke up again, changing the subject, interrupting her train of thought as he did so. It had to make him feel uncomfortable, being read like an open book, hearing the truth from someone else who just had put one and one together and got two. Suddenly it had become so very easy to read him. When you knew the signs you had to look for…

Yet, she continued her report as though the previous scene hadn't happened. "Then I pulled you out of the rubble and took you away from the house so you wouldn't be seen… wouldn't have to explain why you had been there… who would have believed an Ex-Death Eater? Who, except Dumbledore?"

"Right, I would have been in quite some trouble. I hadn't thought about this, I must admit…" he muttered, his eyes clouded by the memories Sariss could almost see floating by when she chanced a sideways glance to his eyes. He was clearly putting another piece of the puzzle into place.

"I went back, checking on Harry once more. I had to hide when Hagrid came and took Harry away after he had spoken to Sirius Black. Black grew aware of my presence and I warned him not to do anything he might regret later on. Obviously, he didn't listen… Then I told him to leave and returned to you, into the darkness where no one who came to the remains of the house looking for Harry or… _her_…" she avoided saying Lily's name, "…would have seen me, or you. Then I woke you up and Disapparated." She took a deep breath. "That's about it. I returned to Dumbledore's office, asked him to take good care of you for me," (she smiled slightly at Severus as she said this), "and he sent me back to Dumbledore's present office."

"And here you are."

"Here I am."

"And your eyes?"

"Avada Kedavra. Apparently, it's supposed to be some sort of Avada Kedavra green. I completely forgot that I wanted to see my eyes before I came to you. I thought that perhaps you wouldn't like the way they looked," Sariss faltered. "I don't know what they look like. What do they look like, Severus?" she moved to finally conjure up a mirror but once again her hand was intercepted in mid-movement.

"They're different, very green now, greener than before. And you're right. It _is_ Avada Kedavra green, now that I think of it," he trailed off. 

"Tell me, Severus, how… _evil_ do they look like?"

He shook his head slightly. "They don't look evil. They're still your eyes. They couldn't even look evil if they were red as Voldemort's, simply because you're looking through them."

Sariss covered Severus's hand with hers. He turned it around and looked at her palm.

"Are you going to keep the scar?" he asked softly.

"I think so. Dumbledore said it could come in handy. The thought has crossed my mind as well as his that it must have established some sort of connection. After all both our scars came from the same spell… And as useful as it might prove to be some time, at the moment it is tingling quite badly. I just hope it heals fast although I wouldn't want to bother Madam Pomfrey. It's not deep, after all, has stopped bleeding already and…" She stopped talking since Severus had lifted her hand up and pressed his lips to the scar on her palm. His breath on the sensitive, slightly injured skin made shivers run down her spine. Why was it that this man only had to touch her so lightly to make the rest of the world completely escape her mind all of a sudden?

**Don't get carried away here! There's still something that bothers you, isn't there?**

_Not now. He's doing it again. I don't want to think about—_

**Now is the moment. End all speculations. It might hurt but you'll know for sure. If it were my choice I'd refuse being second best when he keeps thinking about… you know whom I'm talking about. I don't know how it is with you…**

_I don't want to know. He's—_

**But I do. And I'll be so insistent if you don't settle this right now. I won't let you sleep, I tell you.**

Sariss swallowed, trying to gather her wits—Severus's attentions made it very hard for her to string together a coherent sentence—enough to ask a final question. _The_ question. "Are you still in love with her?" she whispered, her voice rather unsteady now and not only because she feared his answer.

He dropped her hand, startled, and looked at her, intently, a very serious expression on his face.

"I won't ask you any more questions about things you'd rather forget after this, I promise. Just answer me this," Sariss said in a small voice, by now really dreading his answer.

He didn't speak. Instead, he averted his gaze.

**You shouldn't have asked.**

_I… He… You forced me to!_

**You should have let the past rest in peace.**

_He hasn't even answered yet…_

**He doesn't have to. Silence can be more of an answer than a thousand words. **

_So you think he's still…_

**Definitely.**** Absolutely. Yes.**

_Then… then what do—did—I mean to him?_

**See? That's exactly the reason why we decided to not ever fall in love. Love leads to loss. We didn't want to lose anymore, remember? No one.**

_Stop lecturing me about things I know all too well myself! I know what we decided after Rick and Rory died—even sooner than that… I can't remember. I might have decided it the day he came for me already…_

**And then you made friends with Rick and Aurora.**

_Yes._

**And you lost them.**

_Yes._

**I can see a pattern developing here…**

Sariss stood up, blinking several times so as not to start crying. She wouldn't cause a scene. She wouldn't. It would be too embarrassing. She'd feel like a character from one of those romance novels that she so detested.

"Do you want me to leave?" she asked softly. "Do you want to be alone with your memories?" Her voice was shaking, and she hated herself for not being able to sound cold right now. There had been a time when she could have sounded like living ice…

"Sariss—." He, too, stood up. Slowly and quite wearily. She saw him out of the corner of her eyes.

Having learnt all those things about him made her fear that he had been looking for someone who'd replace Lily; that he thought about her when Sariss kissed him, when they made love… She might be able to sense feelings but if they were directed at her or the projection of a memory, she was not able to tell. It was a treacherous gift.

"Who is it that you touch when you touch me? Whom do you see when you look at me?" she asked softly yet harshly. "Are you pretending that I'm her?" It sounded cruel to ask him those questions the way she did. Bombarding him with question marks like the bullets of a Muggle machine gun. Whatever his answers would be, those questions must hurt him as much as it hurt Sariss to ask them. And if his answers were 'yes' and 'her' or 'Lily' it was good that way. In that case, it was supposed to hurt.

Severus stepped in her direct line of view, facing her.

"Sariss," he repeated, brushing her hair out of her face and resting his palm against her cheek, his thumb on her chin, so that she had to look up at him, "believe me, since I you came into my life, I haven't thought of Lily Evans Potter in another way than as a memory, a memory long gone by, a shadow of my past… It has been only you ever since." He said all of this very slowly and intently as though he feared to be misunderstood if he phrased his words any different…

But it was not way he said it. It was the way he looked at her. So sad, so sorry.

Sariss closed her eyes in relief; a little tear escaped despite all her efforts.

He wiped it away.

He clearly was sorry for possibly having made her feel as though he had, if only for a moment, treated her like a substitution for Lily, which he most likely hadn't at all. And if he had at the beginning it didn't really matter, did it? The only thing that mattered now was that the past was long gone.

Sariss must have been seeing things when she'd leapt to that particular conclusion she had leapt to. She must, since she sensed his feelings so unmistakably now, so strongly, that he might as well have openly declared it. She realized that she didn't hate Lily for the feelings she had invoked in him. 

Things like that happened. Small dramas. Unrequited love. Sariss had never really been a victim of that. But she had witnessed those dramas all around her. She had always been too busy dealing with herself to share her life with someone else, too afraid to get involved in those things. They could only lead to pain. No, Sariss had never suffered the pain love could bring until a few months ago. Unlike Severus.

Had that led him into Darkness?

There were many reasons one chose the Dark side. Hunger for power, for wealth and influence. Those were the simple ones. But there were more complex ones, too. Had Severus descended into Darkness because there had been no Light for him to turn to? No light to hold on to, no guidance? Then why had he turned his back on the Death Eaters after a, in comparison to others, fairly short time?

Sariss wouldn't ask him about that. It caused him pain to look back, to remember. They had done that together a lot during the last days, spoken about things they'd rather not speak about usually. Nothing ever had felt so bad. Nothing ever had been so hard to do or listen to. But it was in the past. Severus had left his behind, albeit, he had not forgotten it, because "to forget is to repeat." None of what he'd said had made her angry—which was strange; Sariss had hunted down lesser men for having done less horrible things than him. But she couldn't bring herself to hate him. It was as if he were speaking about a completely different person—and he loathed that person. He loathed himself. And a part of him wanted her to loathe him, too.

He had so many regrets.

Sariss wouldn't urge him to tell her any more of them. They were part of him. But they were not _him_.

And she would not mention Lily again either. Let her rest in peace. Sariss wouldn't hate her for having been loved such a long time ago. 

Lily had given her life for her baby—Sariss had almost witnessed it—and if Severus had loved her once, she must have been a wonderful being. Severus didn't love easily. Lily must have been a light in the darkness of Voldemort's first rise to power, the light that wouldn't shine for the young Severus Snape; the light that had chosen James Potter over him…

Sariss would try to be that light as much as she could even though she knew perfectly well that with a heritage like hers she would only be a small candle in the gloom that was the Potions master's soul. She'd be his light as much and as long as possible.

**Do not burn too brightly. The brighter a candle burns, the sooner it dies…**

_Haven't you made me paranoid enough already?_

**I just—**

"Severus…" she began, leaning into his palm, enjoying the warmth and softness of his hand. 

"I'm sorry, love. You startled me a bit when you asked me that so frankly. I had to process all of what the question alone implied first…" Severus said softly. "I'm sorry." 

Sariss once again felt his sadness and pain joining hers. He was really sorry and to express it in words, in a situation like this… She had once, in a time that seemed so very long ago all of a sudden, known a Severus Snape who wouldn't have been able to force a 'Sorry' over his lips—a real 'Sorry' and not one that was said without thinking, without really meaning very much—if his life depended on it. And now it seemed that he meant it every time he said it. She was almost painfully aware of that fact now.

"Have I ever given you the impression that it wasn't you I wanted?" he asked, stroking her cheek.

Had the thought indeed crossed his mind, too, that he might have given her the impression that he used Sariss as some sort of a replacement for Lily? It must have.

She shook her head. "I… I suddenly feel so stupid…" Sariss stuttered, wiping away another tear that had somehow escaped her eye. "Stupid thing, crying, really. I don't want to cry. There's no reason to. Everything's fine."

**See? Everything's fine.**

_Remind me again what you told me only a few minutes ago, you prat._

**I can't seem to remember.**

_You'd better not. And keep out of it in the future. Making me think the worst when in fact there's nothing to worry about. Paranoid prat._

**How should I have known?**

_When you don't really know something, you'd better keep your mouth shut._

**Know-it-all.******

_If I am a know-it-all then you're a know-it-not-at-all._

"I'm sorry, love," he said again. "I didn't want you to know it because I thought you'd see it exactly like this, which you did."

"Leaping to conclusions that's what I did."

"You do that a lot," he replied. "I seem to make you do that."

"Not your fault that is. And you shouldn't feel sorry for loving someone, anyone."

"I am not. I'm just sorry that I gave you the wrong impression again. That seems to be one of my favourite pastimes, doesn't it? Doing exactly what's the wrong thing to do." He sounded bitter now.

"You're not," Sariss felt inclined to say. "Not always."

"Then you're one of the two people who think that."

"Then there aren't very many people who know you."

"I saw to that myself. It's safer for me. People who know you well can hurt you the most. You should know that better than anyone else."

"I do. Choosing loneliness over friendships because it wouldn't hurt as much as losing those friends or being betrayed."

"I never betrayed you."

"I thought you did. I couldn't sense anything coming from you. Too many—."

"Too many people," he joined in. "Too much hatred and glee and menace to filter out feelings of pain and shock."

Sariss nodded. "That might have saved us both. If I had felt it, I would have begged you to help me. I'm fairly sure I would have. Without a second thought."

"They might have found it very entertaining. Even more than they already did."

"You would have shown your true colours if I had said something, if I had been able to force it over my lips. But the way it was… I'm not even sure if I hated you at that moment. I don't think I felt anything but fury at myself that I let you come closer and break my defences. I can't seem to remember. My mind must have shut down."

"And a good thing that is. I won't ever forget the way you looked at me. You did hate me," he whispered, "no matter what you say now. Usually I don't care about being hated or not… But when it's you… I felt so helpless. There was no use in killing us both by acting too early. Do you understand?"

"And now you're asking me for absolution?" There lay no menace in her voice.

"Perhaps… No, not really. I mean…" he hesitated. "You already said you forgave me… I don't know how I am supposed to put it in words… But I want you to know…" He ran his hand through his hair.

"Will you stop doing that?"

"Doing what?" he asked, puzzled.

"Running your hand through your hair. You'll accuse me of being the cause of you getting bald one day. I can already imagine—."

He rolled his eyes, but got serious instantly again. "As I was trying to say… You see… I thought I could stand by and watch you die. I would have. And I hate myself for being able to do something like that even when I know perfectly well that I would never forgive myself for it. That thought alone has been tearing at me for weeks. It presented me with a ghastly nightmare…" he muttered the last few words.

"What was it about?" Sariss enquired.

"You," he began. "And being too late—"

"Severus—."

"—and blood and death," he finished. "The worst of it is that the way the nightmare started out was a dream I often had before all of this happened. A nice dream. You were in it, so it had to be nice."

"Tell me about it."

"Rather not."

"Too personal?"

"You could say that."

"When did you have it for the first time?"

"The dream or the nightmare?"

"The dream."

"Some time around Christmas. As the Dreamless Sleep Potion didn't work very well anymore I found it quite pleasant to have my usual nightmares chased away by you."

"Christmas, huh?"

"Must have been the mistletoe…" One of those indefinable smiles of his flickered over his face for a moment.

"I take it that… well… You started fantasizing about me then?" She bit her lip very much on purpose. Her tears had dried.

"Oh yes." He gave her a meaningful look.

"Oh."

"Don't tell me you didn't."

"I might have." 

He raised his eyebrow. She shrugged. 

"Well, yes. I don't really remember when it started. Must have been lurking in the back of my mind for quite some time."

"Are you implying that all this dancing around each other on tiptoes, as though a bomb would go off any second, was totally unnecessary? That I could simply have walked up to you, swept you up into my arms and—."

"I would so have slapped you." _Although in my dreams I never even wasted a thought to that…_

"I thought so… And if I had said something along the lines of 'Come on, love. You know it, I know it. So why not save ourselves the trouble?'"

"I would have denied everything."

"Playing hard to get."

"But easy to keep."

"But just as easy to lose."

"If you say so."

"I do," Severus said. "You just gave me a taste of it again. But what I wanted to say is… well… I just wanted you to know what kind of man I am. Now you know how much Darkness lies in me. I don't deserve you. I've been thinking that for a very long time and being capable of watching you die… that just confirmed it. I don't deserve anyone. It borders on a miracle that you're still with me now that you know this big mess that my life is, the mess that I am… Promise you won't ever walk out on me again. Not because of something that's long buried."

"I can't make promises I might not be able to keep."

"You're a Slytherin. We always make promises, some of which we intend to keep, some of which we know perfectly well we can't or won't keep. Tell the truth if you can; lie to me if you must. I'll convince myself to believe it."

"I promise not to walk out on you if I have a choice. I cannot give you more than that. It'll have to be enough."

"At least it's a promise that's not too hard to keep. Thank you. Now that we're at it already, is there anything else you want to know?"

"Only what that fantasy you had about me was like… Details, please."

"You can't be serious. One second you're on the brink of tears and then you set out to make fun of me."

"Part of my charm and very necessary, too. Or would you rather have me break down again?"

"That's like choosing between a spinach-flavoured Every Flavour Bean and a broccoli-flavoured one. Not much of a difference. Both have only disadvantages."

"I might make your fantasy come true some time… Actually I'd very much like to."

Severus shook his head. "I'll never have it again. The nightmare is lurking over it constantly."

"Then you'll have to change it in a way that the nightmare won't fit in anymore."

"Who declared you a wizarding psychologist?"

"I just did. With you around that seems to be sort of a must—and you must note that I've had to deal with myself for much longer already…" Sariss said. _Although even less successfully._ "You could also fill me in on the way the nightmare's perverted your… er… fantasy. It might have a meaning."

"It does. Waiting too long. Being too late."

"You weren't too late. You saved me. You did."

"I almost was too late. I could almost feel you run out of life when I held you. Madam Pomfrey said you were lucky to have blacked out. So you see, there's nothing to analyse, no riddles to be solved about—."

"I understand. You don't want to go into detail. Believe me, no one understands that better than I."

"The last time you were forced to go into detail you blasted a whole wall away, didn't you?"

"Yes. The Aurors only wanted to know what exactly had happened, and I—." Sariss stopped dead. "How do you know that?"

"I was there," he said. "With Dumbledore. I didn't stay long. The Aurors had called him. They didn't know what to do with you."

"Then you were the one I heard speak to Dumbledore. You were right in front of the door of the room I was supposed to sleep in. I was awake, barely, but nonetheless. I heard you as though my head were stuffed with cotton wool. I was too drowsy back then to match the muffled voice I heard to yours later."

"I tipped the Aurors off that Voldemort was up to something, that he had caught the supposedly right man this time, your Secret-Keeper, which he had. The Aurors were too late. I was too late. A bad habit of mine," he added sarcastically.

"It was a long time ago, Severus."

"How come you keep telling me that when you don't even listen to your own advices?"

"It's easier to solve other people's problems than it is to solve one's own."

"I don't think I ever solved one of yours," Severus said.

"That might be because you can't answer a question that doesn't have an actual answer either."

"Yet you cope."

"Barely." Sariss sighed.

"You're doing remarkably well, taking the circumstances into account. My _problems_ seem so small compared to yours sometimes." He, too, sighed. Deeply and sadly.

"Oh, Severus, if more people knew the part of your personality I've seen, saw you the way you let me see you…" she faltered, reaching out with her injured hand and brushing his hair (he washed it fairly regularly now, she noted with a bit of amusement) out of his face, thus mimicking his earlier gesture.

"They'd pity me."

"Some would perhaps," she stated.

"I don't want that," he said, a harsh edge to his voice. 

_No, you really wouldn't want that. You prefer to be heartily detested…_

"I know. Neither would I," she said out-loud instead.

"Do _you_ pity me?"

"No, Severus, I don't pity you. I… you know… I…" She couldn't say it. He was looking at her so very intently, that she could scarcely stand it. That made it even harder for her. She just couldn't force the truth out. She didn't have practice in things like these. It was much easier to ask uncomfortable questions (which she had had sufficient practice in) than to express her feelings in words.

So she did the one thing that could possibly make the silence, which, in that moment, hung so heavily between them, bearable… She kissed him. She drew him near and kissed him, thus telling him what she couldn't say. Seventeen years backwards, seventeen years forwards. She knew it hadn't been that long, yet it felt so long ago; she'd learnt so many things, seen so many things, seen a different time, the end of an age of terror from a completely different point of view than the one she'd had on it. She'd faced her very own nemesis for the third time… She'd come to know a part of Severus Snape that had lain hidden and buried for a long time. And she wanted Severus still. Perhaps even more now that she knew that she had not imagined everything he was feeling for her. She'd learnt about a new aspect of his personality… And she accepted it. In a certain respect, it made him whole; it made the puzzle that was Severus Snape complete… No more secrets.

All those thoughts raced through her mind as she once again slid her hands around his neck, very carefully, since she wouldn't have wanted to make the wound start bleeding again, and entwined them in his hair. So rich, so soft… She had no idea why exactly she did what she did; it seemed to be something akin to instinct.

His arms slid around her waist, the palms of his hands emitting the so familiar warmth that enveloped her like a blanket. He pressed her against him, holding her so very tightly, resting his chin on top of her head for a few moments… Then he pulled away from her and lifted his hand to the side of her face once more.

"Sariss, you look dreadful." He sighed. "Let me clean your face."

"Thank you very much, but I already had someone rubbing my cheek furiously today. I think I'll just wait until it disappears on its own," she smirked.

"I don't intend to 'rub it furiously.' On the contrary. Who would, anyway?" he said, already conjuring up a towel and a bowl of water.

"Sirius Black," she said, knowing she'd strike a chord with this, and sat back down on the settee.

"That would be like him," Severus sneered.

"Severus, your old grudges…" Sariss said in a singsong voice.

"Sod my 'old grudges' as you put them. I never liked him, even without the werewolf incident I wouldn't have liked him."

"Why is that now?"

"He always got the girls," he stated dryly, not a tinge of emotion in his voice.

He had caught her off-guard with this remark. Thus, she couldn't rein herself in anymore and dissolved into a fit of the giggles. 

"One second you look as though someone melted their cauldron and the next—," she sniggered, regaining her composure. "You truly are full of surprises."

"Which is one of my… more charming personality traits, I hope…" he drawled, throwing her a smile, as he sat down, too, took her hand and gently began to clean the bit of dried blood away that had still been there. She winced as the cloth made contact. 

"Sorry," he said.

"It was just a bit cold," Sariss waved it aside. "You know that it's just a bit uncomfortable to me. Nothing serious."

"Sorry nonetheless. Hadn't thought about it being _uncomfortably_ cold," Severus muttered and with a flick of his wand, warmed the water. Indeed, it was much nicer now…

"Severus, I can take care of it myself, really," Sariss said. She was no baby one had to care for all the time… "You don't have to—." 

"I _want_ to," he stated firmly at her—as she knew quite well herself—feeble attempt to maintain her pride. 

Having finished with her hand, he wrung out the towel in the bowl, thus moistening it again and brought the wet cloth to her face. It was pleasantly warm and he was very gentle as he tilted her head to the side to clean her cheek and also her hair. She flinched a bit when he touched the wound on her head.

_Looks like there's even more blood than I was aware of… And I must be quite sooty, too. No wonder, a house collapsed around me…_

She closed her eyes. His touch was so soothing. She inhaled deeply as he pulled her against his chest, holding her again, still running his hand through her hair and up and down the side of her face, sharing his body heat with her. At one point, Sariss realized that he had actually conjured a hairbrush and was now brushing her hair, very gently. She hardly noticed his slight tugging. It was really quite tangled…

**But not so tangled that he'd have to take such long a time, is it?**the little, a bit evil, voice in the back of her mind asked. 

_Who cares? This is nice… so shut up…_

Sariss moved slightly, settling herself into a more comfortable position, resting her hand against his chest, burying her face in the hollow between his ear and his shoulder, inhaling the scent that was so unmistakably him… It made her so heavenly drowsy…

**~*~*~**

Severus brushed her silken hair that hadn't looked very silken a few minutes ago. But it already started to feel smooth and soft again, clean and shiny. Just the way he liked it; just the way it usually was. It was a calming task, one brush and then the next, slowly and carefully; not having to speak any more… And she was so very close to him, actually snuggling into him the way she did so often, resting her forehead against the side of his throat…

He felt something akin to relief at the fact that she'd figured everything out on her own. He had no idea if and how he could ever have put all those things into words. Yet, she had done so and in so few words that it bordered on a miracle. She hadn't even had to pressure him to speak. And she hadn't pressured him to state his answers more clearly. He was thankful for this, but also slightly uncomfortable. No one had ever talked to him like that, except for Dumbledore, perhaps. But not even he had expressed all those things so clearly, in such small an amount of words…

It amazed him that Sariss understood, that she hadn't really judged him. He had thought she'd scream at him, not believing him when he said he hadn't thought of Lily anymore since he'd realized that the love he'd thought he still felt for her was but an illusion he'd harboured somewhere in a dark corner of his soul. But he should have expected her to react the way she did. The last days had clearly shown that she was not the hysterical type. She'd never gotten worked up because of things that were in the past—his past—and couldn't be changed. And she wasn't the jealous type either—least of all of a memory. 

Sariss would have left without saying another word if he had told her to. She wouldn't have made a scene. She would have cried. Yes. Severus was positive about that—it was something she couldn't help—but not in front of him, not to the extent she'd have cried as soon as she would have been out of his room. She wouldn't have used tears to hold on to something that didn't really exist—but it did exist. She may be on the mentally unstable side and thus very temperamental but she was clearly not the hysterical type…

**And she is not Lily, either. **

_I'm glad she isn't her. Otherwise, she would be dead…_

No. Sariss was real, alive; he could touch her, he could kiss her—and she'd kiss him back every time he would bring his lips to hers… He hadn't thought about Lily anymore… 

The moment he'd said it, he'd realized it. The moment he'd told Sariss that she had been the only one on his mind for quite some time, he'd realized that he had indeed stopped thinking about Lily in ways other than that he had failed her back then… Only a shadow, a memory. It had been the truth and nothing but the truth when he had told Sariss. She was more than complicated. Not only a Riddle, but also still a mystery never to be completely solved. Would she have become like this if it hadn't been for the Dark Lord to interfere? 

Sariss was on his mind, night and day, whether she was near him, so close he could feel her cool—or sometimes very warm, for that matter—breath on his skin, or far away from him in the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, teaching… It wasn't so far away, actually, but to him it felt this way. Strange how dependent he had become on what she felt for him, what she thought of him… He wanted her to be happy. And somehow, he knew this was not possible. She'd never be happy—not completely anyway—for more than a few seconds or minutes in a row—all because of the Dark Lord. And she'd never be genuinely happy, happy without a shadow already lurking somewhere in a corner to drive any kind of positive feeling out of her heart again. 

If there had been a way, Severus would have made it undone. If there were a way, he would kill him instantly. Not for the purpose of thus ridding the wizarding world of an evil usurper, fighting the Dark Side or just because Dumbledore wanted him to—no, simply because Voldemort had made her suffer and still did… Twice her father had destroyed her innocence. Twice she had to be taken away to save her from him… Severus would see to it that this wouldn't happen a third time. He felt responsible for her safety. He had already failed once. Never again.

_I won't lose anymore. This is my vow. I won't lose you. No matter what._

**Right.**** History won't repeat itself. After all the conditions are quite different.**

_Not that different. But I won't fail to protect the one I love for a second time. I am loved in return. I won't fail again. I can't take it. I won't fail._

**And that happened quite a lot in the past, didn't you? You failing, that is.**

_The past is gone—_

**But she's here.**

_Yes, Sariss is here. And I'll see to it that it stays that way for a very long time…_

Sariss's breath on his neck caused the tingling feeling to spread all over his body again. The way her lips lightly rested against his skin…

Severus Banished the hairbrush and gently pushed her away. Not very far; only far enough to see her face. She looked at him with those changed eyes of hers. They looked almost like Lily's had always looked like… But hers had never even remotely looked at him like that. He couldn't remember anyone ever looking at him quite the way Sariss did. As though she wanted to ask him all over again why he was here, why she was here, what made him stay with her; as though she wondered whether all of this was real or whether she was only dreaming. What did she see when she looked into his eyes? He didn't know. He only hoped she saw what he hadn't been able to tell her yet: that he loved her in a way that seemed almost obsessive.

She was so beautiful. Like a porcelain doll, looking frail like china in his hands. Her eyes, as they were now, only emphasised all of this even more strongly than before. She looked almost unreal as though she'd go up in a wisp of smoke and disappear as soon as he let go of her. That impression had been growing stronger and stronger by every passing hour.

He wouldn't let go of her. Never. Two lonely souls, two ocean souls, had found their counterparts.

What made Severus want to drown in her eyes wasn't their colour. It was something elusive that could never be fully put into words. By no one. It was downright impossible. But its meaning was all too clear. A blind man would have grown aware of it.

_She loves me._

**She never said it.**

_I never said it either. Not in as many words. That doesn't mean that I don't love her._

**Perhaps you should tell her then.**

_I don't think I can. It's not as easy as it might sound to you. _

**Three little words.**** She's got the same problem, I'm sure. She wanted to tell you she loved you quite a few times, you must have noticed, but she never finished.**

_She didn't have to finish. She was quite convincing without that._

**You leave it to my imagination to fill in the gaps in your explanation, don't you?**

_Exactly.__ I only tell you that I intend to do the same thing. No confessions that sound as though they were made up by an author of some sort of cheap romance novel._

**I take it you've finally decided to be a man of actions then. If you can't say it then you'll have to demonstrate it.**

_I intend to. That kind of demonstration and towards her… any time._

"Why are you looking at me that way?" Sariss's voice intruded his mind.

He didn't answer. Instead, he tilted her head up and lavished her face with kisses, fully intending to drown in her scent and taste as he pulled her to her feet with him, picked her up and carried her into the bedroom. Somehow, the bed was his favourite place when making love to her. Not that they had never done it somewhere else. Very much on the contrary; and every time, no exceptions, it had been an experience beyond description. Perhaps it was the falling asleep together afterwards that made that particular location so attractive. Perhaps Severus was after all the romantic kind of man, in this respect at least…

"I want you," Sariss breathed, when they had reached their destination and almost frantically started on disrobing each other.

"What a coincidence. I just wanted to say the same thing," Severus mumbled against the tender skin on her throat, ignoring that a thin layer of fine dust particles—dust from the past—had settled all over her, feeling her shiver beneath his touch.

"Oh dear, I'm so sooty," she managed to say when she saw her robe fall to the floor. "Just look, it's everywhere. The house-elves won't be pleased if your sheets are ruined…"

"They don't care. Nor do I," he murmured into her ear when he pushed her down into the very sheets she had just mentioned.

"I should have taken Dumbledore's advice and taken a bath before…" was the last coherent sentence he let her even begin. The rest dissolved in a blur of those special sounds that only the act of being made love to could make her utter.

**~*~*~**

Later that night, in the early morning hours to be exact, Sariss carefully slid out of the bed so as not to wake Severus up. He had woken from a nightmare earlier, calling her name in such a panic. His eyes had been wild. He had been in such a fear for her that for minutes he kept clutching at her, covering her face with kisses and hoarsely whispering 'You're alive.' He had been so frightened… Sariss had never seen him like this before. It had felt like a knife had been thrust right through her heart and then twisted. Her stomach had clenched into a tight knot.

She couldn't fall asleep again after that and had thus lain awake for hours, just listening to the once more even, regular, and soothing rhythm of his breathing and heartbeat.

Earlier that night, he hadn't given her the time or opportunity to take a look at her eyes and, frankly, she hadn't really cared. She had completely forgotten about them. Yet, she wanted to know what they looked like now. Really green eyes. Avada Kedavra green eyes… The eyes Severus now saw when he looked at her…

Settling herself in an armchair near the fireplace in Severus's study, she charmed the fire to burn a bit brighter than usual—in the darkness it was a bit creepy in here with all those jars on the shelves glinting with the flickering of the fire, their rare and valuable (but nonetheless grotesque-looking) contents looking strangely alive—and then conjured up a small mirror as she couldn't very well go into the bathroom without being noticed. The door was only a few yards away from the now peacefully sleeping figure. He would wake up. But Sariss wanted to be alone to see her eyes for the first time—just in case they looked as though they weren't her own…

It already bordered on a miracle that Sariss had made it out of the room without Severus noticing her leave. There hadn't been a single time he hadn't woken up when she had only moved inches away. Not that it wouldn't have been the same with her. She, too, had a distinct tendency to jerk awake when he got up. The two of them definitely hadn't slept very deeply recently. As the Potion didn't work properly anyway, they had stopped taking it entirely and thus suffered from their nightmares again. They had been waking each other at least twice a night recently when they had spent the night together—and had thus decided to not spend entire nights with each other—well, not _every_ night. 

Severus tended to jerk back to reality rather quickly, whereas the nightmares seemed to have a much firmer grasp on Sariss. He had to use all his strength to keep her from struggling wildly, shaking her and screaming her name to make her wake up and realize that it were not Voldemort's hands on her, that it was Severus, Severus who held her safely in his arms…

Slowly, Sariss raised the mirror, having closed her eyes before she did so. Taking a deep breath, she opened them, her breath catching in her throat. 

Bright emerald green they were. Avada Kedavra green. Like two small green flashlights. The difference was startling. Her whole face seemed to be overshadowed by this feature, her skin seeming even whiter with the contrast. Sariss stared at her reflection, the eyes of her reflection. So strange; so alien.

_They're not my eyes. That's not me. That's not me…_

**Severus**** seems not to care what colour they are.**

_I can hardly believe that when he has to look at them all the time… _

**Stop this! Can't you for once in your life believe what you're told? He was completely honest when he said it. He loves you. You know it. You know things about him no one else knows—at least not to that degree.**

_You might be right._

**Of course I am. Answer me one question: Would you ever make love to someone whose eyes you can't bear to look at?**

_No…_

**Quod**** erat demonstrandum.**** Now go back to bed and snuggle up to him. You and I know you like that very much…**

_But I do look weird._

**You'll get used to it. Every time you see your reflection, you'll see them. They are yours now.**

_I look even paler than usual with them being so bright green. I'm as white as a sheet. How come I never realized that before?_

**You didn't really pay attention. But I say it again. Severus doesn't care. If he can accept your eyes, if he can accept everything about you as it is, why can't you?**

_It's not that simple._

**It is. It's the only thing that counts. He accepts you as you are. There's nothing more you could ask for, is there?**

_There is._

**What is that?**

_That's something that is impossible. I've been asking for it for almost eighteen years by now…_

**This is getting you and me nowhere, dear.**

_I know. I just wish… I don't want this. I want to be warm out of my own accord. I want to be normal…_

**Go back to bed. Stop thinking about it. It was a very long day for you today. Sleep. Wait till tomorrow comes. You'll feel better again. **

_I don't think so. But I'll heed your advice._

Sariss threw a last glance at her reflection in the mirror (it looked back at her a bit uncomfortable at having been examined so closely and blushing slightly) and then Banished it. She'd just ignore all of it. She had always fared best doing this, ignoring it all… One thing more to ignore wasn't much of a difference considering what she already had on her Ignore List.

With a sigh she got up and crept silently back into the bedroom where Severus stirred lightly but fell asleep immediately again as soon as Sariss's head rested on his chest. She, too, fell asleep almost instantly.

**Next chapter:**

Severus notices alarming signs, everyone returns to Hogwarts, Ginny steals Harry's socks, another Death Eater attack and open displays of affection.


	29. Echoes In My Head

**Author's note:** Whoa! So many reviews! *jumps up and down like crazy* Thank you, **shasjin-saber, Romm, Butterfly, Miriam, ShadyMerlin, Asrai, CassieXanthe **and** bazooki.** Phew! Eight names! Woohoo!

Chapter 28: Echoes in my Head

**_Halfway through the night  
I wake up in a dream  
Echoes in my head  
Make every whisper turn into a scream_**

**_In the middle of the night._**

_—Roxette: I Wish I Could Fly_

"Let go of me! Let go of me! No!"

Severus woke up with a start. Sleepy and confused, it took him a few moments to remember where he actually was and what was going on.

Sariss. Her chambers. Her bed. And Sariss had a nightmare such as never before.

She threw her head from side to side, struggling as if something invisible were trying to get hold of her, screaming and crying, calling for help, telling someone to let go of her, to stop. Severus could very well imagine what—or rather whom—she was being haunted by tonight. Again.

Severus sat up, intending to wake her up, to free her from the grasp the Dark Lord had on her mind. He grabbed her by the shoulders to shake her awake, calling her name, telling her that she was dreaming, telling her to wake up. But she fought against him, slamming her fists at him, slapping him, fighting with everything she was worth, struggling so violently that at one point, Severus was thrown off the bed and against the wall. 

For a moment, he lay on the floor, dazed, before Sariss's screams penetrated the haze in his mind again. He scrambled to his feet, noticing absent-mindedly, but nonetheless with the utmost relief, that he wasn't hurt, and all but jumped on the bed, on her, trying to grab hold of her again, trying to rip her out of the nightmare's tormenting grasp. He might as well be dreaming himself; it couldn't have felt any worse to him.

"Sariss!" he shouted, trying to get past her struggling hands. Never before had it been that difficult. Never before had she fought so strongly against him. Never before had the nightmare had her in a grasp as firm and unyielding as it did now. Almost every night they'd spent together, it had happened that she'd screamed or cried in her sleep. Severus didn't know for sure if that also happened when she slept alone. But he feared it to be just so. To him it seemed that it was getting harder and harder for her to be released from the nightmare's hold. How did she manage to wake up on her own when no one was there to help her? Did she dream it until the end? What was the end? Did she wake up only when, in her dreams, she… _died_?

"Wake up! You're dreaming again!"

"No! Stop it! Stop it! Stop!" she screamed in-between sobs. "No more!"

"Open your eyes. Look at me!" he pleaded, finally managing to grasp her wrists and pulling her up, shaking her. "Please, wake up."

Her eyes were open wide, but they were absolutely blank and unfocused. She was still asleep and thus didn't recognize him, didn't realize where she was.

And still she screamed for him to stop, to let go of her, to leave her alone, to make it end… And she fought, the muscles in her arms tense and strong. Had she been fully awake he'd never have been capable of restraining her that easily—with all his might, that is.

"Sariss!" Severus shouted again, cupping her face, holding it between his hands, firmly, almost as though he wanted to squeeze the haunting out of her brain. Her hands were hitting his shoulders; he didn't even feel the pain—although he could tell that his whole back would be black and blue the following day if she didn't stop soon. He only felt the straining muscles of her throat and jaw against his hands. "Sariss! Wake up, I'm telling you! He's not here!"

No success.

Thus, he did the only—the last—thing he could think of now. 

"Forgive me," he muttered and slapped her. Right across the cheek. And fairly hard, too. "Wake! Up!"

"No…"She froze and gasped, her hands falling down. Her body was yielding and pliant again.

Severus cupped her face. In the pale light of first dawn, her cheek seemed livid where he'd struck her. Tenderly, he ran his thumb over the very pink spot on her cheek. He felt more sorry than he could ever have expressed with words. 

_I hurt her… I hurt you, love._

"Sariss?" he asked softly.

"Who are you?" she asked hesitantly, her voice very soft and very childlike, blinking several times, obviously just as confused as Severus had been when her screams had made him jerk awake. Slowly, her eyes focused on him.

"Hush, love. You were dreaming again." Severus dropped his hands to her shivering ivory arms. She looked so forlorn, so small and fragile, as she sat there, scanning her body, her arms, her hands, in confusion, stray curls of dark hair clinging to her tearstained cheeks and lips, with Severus kneeling above her. In her long silvery nightgown, she looked as if she wore liquid moonlight as her garment. It was hardly imaginable that this doll-like being, this nymph, this sprite, had just thrown him off and quite unceremoniously smashed him against the wall.

"Severus?" she asked and sniffed, raising her hand to her supposedly burning cheek. At least it looked like it did. It was as red as her lips. He could clearly see where he'd struck her; the imprint of his hand was distinctly visible.

"Yes. I'm here."

"What's happened?"

"You were having another nightmare. Don't you remember?"

"I don't know. One just blends in with the next. I guess it was the same as always…" she said, still very softly, her breath coming in heartbreaking whimpers and sobs. "My face hurts." 

"I'm so sorry. I didn't know what else to do. I was so afraid. It seemed as if he'd never let go of you."

"You… _slapped_ me?" she asked, incredulous. Severus wasn't sure if it was an accusation or merely a question.

"Forgive me," he whispered, suddenly feeling very much ashamed of himself. Guilty. "Look what I've done; I've hurt you, and that when I promised I'd never hurt—."

"Thank you," she interrupted him, tears still running down her face. "And I promised not to make such scenes anymore. And now look at me. Instead of keeping my promise, I constantly break it. And every time it's breaking into more pieces. Just like I am." And through all of this, she kept on sobbing and crying. "I'm sorry."

"Don't do this."

"Don't do what?"

"Apologize. Don't. Please don't. Never apologize to me again."

She nodded, pressing her lips into a thin line, to suppress the sobs, maybe. "Severus, it's… it's…"

"It's getting worse, isn't it?" he ventured.

**Stupid question, really.**

She nodded again. "And it is utter madness. Utter madness, I'm telling you. I'm going mad. I'm going mad," she kept repeating, tearing on her hair as if that would tear the memories out of her brain. "I want to die. I wish I were dead. I'm going mad."

It didn't shock Severus as much as it should possibly have. He had become used to it, if that was possible. She always lost the grip on herself when she woke up from a nightmare. In the morning she would be fine, denying that she ever said those things, as though she had never woken up screaming, never cried. Ignoring them. That was her way of coping with it; pushing those things into the corner of her mind that was labelled 'Do NOT remember!'

But during nights like this one, she wasn't herself. She was no talented witch, no fully-fledged sorceress, no powerful magician; in nights like this, she was only a scared little girl. There was nothing of the seductive temptress that she sometimes could be, nothing of the sometimes reserved and hesitant, sometimes ardent and temperamental lover, nothing of what he called her 'evil' temper—although in fact he'd come to love it so much that it pained him even more to see her like this, to hear her talk like this when she could be so quick at repartee, so creative and eloquent. But even in those ramblings, there was a painful eloquence and cruel poetry.

He caught her hands, gently extricating her hair from between her fingers.

"Don't you hurt yourself," he said tenderly.

"I'm going mad," she sobbed again, as he embraced her. She was drenched in cold sweat, and shivering badly. "I'm going mad… Severus?"

"I'm here, love. I'm here," he whispered and kissed her hair, a gesture that had become quite as familiar to him as fairly a high number of others; wiping away her tears, smoothing her hair back, curling a stray strand around his fingers, running his thumb over her lip, cupping her face, tilting her head up so she'd look him in the eyes right before he bent to kiss her—although that wasn't necessary anymore—and so on and so on… He could continue this list endlessly if only he strained his mind hard enough.

"I don't want to sleep. Never again. I knew what I did when I had been released from the infirmary. I knew why I didn't sleep, why I stayed awake as long as possible at all. I knew that, as soon as the exhaustion would be gone, the exhaustion that'd let me sleep deep and sound, he'd be back with a vengeance," she rambled, her voice muffled against his chest. "Why doesn't the Potion work? Why must I dream those things over and over again?" 

She clung to him as though he could save her from the memories.

"You have to. Otherwise, you'd really go insane. We all need to dream, as cruel as this may sound to you. Maybe that was the reason for the Potion to wear off all too soon and then cease to work altogether." Severus tried to sound calm, to be calm enough so she'd feel it, too. He felt he sounded more like a scholar commenting on his research project. 

"I wish they had used a Memory Charm on me back then. I wish you'd use a Memory Charm now. Make them go away. Drown out my dreams," she pleaded despairingly. "Keep me from remembering." 

"I can't," he said softly, wishing with all his might that he could do exactly that, make everything undone, so that she'd be sleeping safe and sound, in his arms, peaceful and warm. But he knew he couldn't. And thus, he said instead, "And even if I could, if not everything advised against doing it, even if _that_ weren't utter madness, I wouldn't. You wouldn't understand why we keep you safe. You'd think we were holding you prisoner, accompanying you everywhere you go outside, watching your every move. You would be confused by everything you feel, because you wouldn't have an explanation—."

"I know," she whispered. "I only know too well. I only had to say it. Just this once. Oh, why must he claim my nights when I do my best to close my eyes to him by day? Why can't I dream of you? Why can't you invade my dreams as you invade my conscious when I'm awake? Why can't you touch my mind as you touch my body?" Her voice was muffled against his chest.

"Please, don't go on tormenting yourself. It's hard enough for both of us without asking those question aloud."

After that, she was quiet. Severus had almost begun thinking that she had fallen asleep as it often happened when they sat like this. She had stopped crying. She didn't shiver anymore. But was she asleep? 

"Sariss?" he asked softly.

She pulled back a little and looked at him. Then she reached out and stroked his cheek, very tenderly, and said, "Sleep, Severus. There's no reason for you to be tired in the morning."

"It is almost morning, love."

"Oh. I didn't realize," she said sheepishly. "What time is it?"

"It's still well over an hour until sunrise."

"Severus, I told you. I don't want to—."

"And I told you, you must." He shifted his weight and pulled her with him. She put up absolutely no resistance, as he laid back down with her draped over him. They always lay like this after they'd made love. They fell asleep like this. Even though, as of yet, they'd only spent few nights together, it had become a ritual that they had mutely agreed to. It had just happened, and they both liked it that way. Severus, because he felt he had spent too many nights with only his nightmares to keep him company and somehow wanted to feel her breath on his chest or the weight of her head or the gentle stir of her hand when she unknowingly snuggled up to him in her sleep; Sariss, because that position allowed her to listen to his heartbeat and let herself be lulled into sleep by the regular rise and fall of his chest, while his arms were around her, holding her, letting her know he was there if, and most of all _when_, memories concerning the Dark Lord intruded her sleeping defenceless mind. 

She liked to fall asleep like that; she'd told him that once during those moments before she drifted off.

"Severus—."

"Don't speak, love," he said, resting his hand against her still pink cheek, as she lay on his chest. "Sleep. When you wake up you'll feel like yourself again."

"Do I have a choice?"

"Usually, yes. But not now," he said. "Sleep. I'll wake you up when it's time—or not."

"Okay… Love…" And within a matter of moments, she was asleep.

Severus lay awake and held her, glad that she'd drifted off that easily, glad that she wasn't crying anymore, glad that her breaths came deeply and regularly, and wishing with all his might that, for the short remainder of the night, she'd make it without another visit of her worst nightmare and receive a bit of rest. She needed a normal and healthy slumber; no matter how much she preferred the sleep of exhaustion that would leave her without nightmares—simply because she hadn't the strength to dream.

Her nightmares were getting worse. There was no denying it. She could hardly be made to wake up. But why was that so? And how much worse could they get? How much more was needed for her to break? What could he do to keep her from really going insane, from surrendering to the madness that she so dreaded? From crossing the thin line that she'd been balancing on for far too long a time already? How was he to stabilize her? How to give her a hand?

Those thoughts drifted through Severus's mind as he dozed off, doing the only thing he could do to be of any assistance to her. He was there. He held her. It had to be enough, because it was the only thing he could do for her. Be there and love her not _despite_ of who and what she was but _because_.

The sun was rising. The last day of the Easter holidays had begun. And it promised to be a lovely day, since later that morning, when the sun was already hanging high in the sky, shining brightly, Severus was awoken by Sariss's gentle caresses, by her skin on his, her lips on his throat, her hair slithering over his chest, falling down around him like a fiery, vanilla-scented, curtain against the light of the sun; he was awoken by her cold little hands that strayed boldly into places that were forbidden to anyone else but her. And, as always, there were no hints that pointed to the state she had been in only a few hours ago.

Indeed, she smiled when he shifted to let her lie beneath him, where he wanted her to be.

"Severus," she whispered. He thought he heard his name echo. Severus, Severus. The outside world was gone again. There was only she. Sariss, with her startling green eyes, her luscious lips that breathed her sweet words of Come Hither only for him to hear, as she wrapped her naked arms around his shoulders, her glowing ivory limbs around him. To Severus, she was the most desirable, the most precious and beautiful being in the world. Always. She had given herself to him, made herself his, and—if she knew it or not—she had made Severus hers. Completely. 

If this was a dream, he'd never want to wake up again…

**~*~*~**

"It's good to be back. Isn't it?" Neville said Sunday afternoon—the holidays were over and the Hogwarts Express had brought the students back to school. He flopped down on his four-poster with a sigh. "How are things? Did I miss something?"

"How is it that my trunk's never at the foot of my bed where it belongs?" Seamus complained, as soon as he had entered the dormitory, pushing the trunk into its respective place. "Any news about Ravon?" he asked, rummaging around in his luggage.

"Yeah, what's up with Professor Ravon? Is she still here? I had one hell of a time explaining to my parents that Hogwarts is still the safest place they could send me," Dean said, "after everything they read in the _Daily Prophet_… I should never have told them they could subscribe to it. They said they had been short of coming and getting me—as if I were a six year old and couldn't tell someone who wants to kill me from someone who doesn't. So, is she here? Are we having DADA tomorrow?"

"Damn, I forgot my Remembrall—Hey! That's not funny."

Ron was sniggering too badly, holding his stomach. "Sorry," he gasped, trying to keep himself from cracking up completely. "Not just you… General laughing attack."

"Harry? Since you're the only one here who's getting enough air to explain what's so funny…" Neville said slowly. "Please?"

Harry looked up from _Flying with the Cannons_. He knew it by heart, forwards and backwards, but it was still a much more entertaining read than, say, _Hideously Advanced Charms and Spells_ (which he should indeed learn by heart now that he thought of it…).

"Erm…" he began sheepishly. "I'm not sure. It might be funnier if you saw it yourself?"

"Why? Has Snape turned into a toad?"

"Stop insulting toads, Finnegan!" Neville called in mock-outrage.

"Out with it, Harry Potter," Dean said. "It's three on one. Ron doesn't count at the moment."

"I'm fine again," Ron said. "Two on three it is."

"Are we living in a democracy or what? Why letting us die of suspense?" Seamus said, whereas Dean's cough sounded suspiciously like 'Leg-locker curse.'

"Three words," Harry said. "Snape and Ravon."

Puzzled silence invaded the room.

"What?" Neville broke the silence after a few seconds. "What's up with them?"

"Snape. And. Ravon," Ron said slowly. "They're… I can't say it. Someone help me there."

"I believe the word you're looking for is 'shagging'," a singsong voice from the door said. "Can I come in without my hands over my eyes?"

"Virginia!"

"Sure, Gin, come in, and help your prude brother find the right words," Harry laughed. "But I think he was only avoiding to say 'in love', huh, Ron?"

"I can't believe I'm related to that dirty-mouthed scarlet woman."

"That's the first time you called me a woman. I should have started to use words like that in your presence much earlier," Ginny grinned, plopping down on Harry's four-poster. "If only to make my brother stop treating me like a baby girl. And scarlet I am. Every Weasley is."

"Well, you're my baby sister—."

"Are you serious about 'Ravon and Snape are in love—'." Dean.

"Or shagging—." Seamus.

"Or whatever." Neville.

"Yes, yes, and… well, I guess, yes," Harry said.

"Love Potion," they said as one.

"Don't think so," said Ginny. "They still argue about everything they talk about."

"So… she's alright again, or what?"

"I'd say she's out of her mind, but no one ever listens to what I say."

"The reason for which might be that you're mostly wrong, Weasley."

"One day I might be right, Weasley yourself," Ron said. "If only it weren't so disgusting, having to see them snog in the corridors all the time when you come along and think of nothing evil."

"Snape and…" Seamus began. "Snape? Of all people Snape? That ugly git?"

"You wouldn't believe what a hair wash and a smile can do…" Ginny said, very obviously trying to sound innocent. "Makes you kind of understand Ravon. And I've never before seen her smile that much. Snape and Ravon. Period."

"Well, now that everyone knows about Ravon or Riddle or whatever we're supposed to call her now, I'm inclined to say that Snape _might_ perhaps not be that bad after all."

"Wait for the first Potions lesson. You'll see if anything's different."

"I've got to verify that, see it with my own eyes," Neville said. "And they really snog in the corridors for everyone to see? Yuck!"

"Ron's exaggerating as always," Ginny said. "They only kiss. Nothing remotely as disgusting as my dirty-minded brother likes to tell you. Always with his mind in the gutter, that one."

"Remind me again, who's in whose dormitory?"

"I warned you before I came in, didn't I?"

"Why are you here in the first place? You know I could take points off you for being in the boys' dorm."

"You sound almost like Percy." Ginny rolled her eyes. "I'm here because I wanted to see my boyfriend—and my Head Git brother—and walk them to dinner. And I wanted to look for a pair of socks."

"Socks? Are you implying that you… forgot your socks in here?"

"Not _forgot_. I want to _borrow_ a pair of Harry's," she explained to Ron, throwing her arms around Harry. "My feet are cold at night and Mum simply keeps getting me those thin, lacy things—because she thinks they're cute. I need another one of yours."

"That's what you get for being the only girl."

Ginny jumped off the bed with flying robes and began rummaging around in Harry's trunk.

"That's stealing, Ginny," Ron said. 

"According to Fred and George it's called 'borrowing'," she muttered. "Ooh! Those look cosy." She giggled and pulled out a pair of dark blue and red socks—if you could call them 'a pair'. One was blue, the other one red. A present of Dobby's.

"Those were a Christmas present. Treat them with due respect," Harry said, sniggering.

"I promise to wear them very respectfully," Ginny said, closing the trunk again. "Thank you… although I'd rather have _you_ warm my feet. A pity that the holidays are over…" she whispered only for him to hear.

"Oh gods, this is so sappy," Dean said. "Looking at you two, I can hardly imagine Snape and Ravon being any worse."

"That might be because we already claimed that title," Ginny grinned especially broadly. "Worst couple Hogwarts has ever seen."

"Don't let yourself be disturbed by my presence and everyone else's. Go on embarrassing me and the rest of our family."

Ginny tsked and got up. "See you at dinner, guys. 'Love you, Harry." She bent to kiss him passionately, making Harry's glasses fog up quite… er… nicely. 

"Hey, hey, hey! That's enough!" Ron exclaimed in horror. "I'm going to tell Mum that you—."

"Oh, yes. Please. Tell Mum. She'll be delighted—well, she would be if she hadn't known for centuries that I'm desperately in love with the great and famous Harry Potter, conqueror of evil and saviour of British virtue—," Harry blushed, but sniggered, admiring the fact that Ginny said all of this with a dead serious expression—only a Weasley could ever manage that, "—and that I've been doing things with him, you, Ron Weasley, have—at least to my _vast_ knowledge—."

"No details, please!" Seamus said. "We all can imagine what those things are you're talking about. Harry talks in his sleep—."

"And so's Ron," Dean said and Ginny nodded eagerly.

"Am not," Harry said almost at the same time as Dean spoke.

"Are too," four voices said.

"Most certainly not."

"My sister has the dirtiest mouth in the world. I fear I failed as a brother. How else could she have become so shameless?"

"You have no idea _how_ shameless," Harry and Ginny said in almost perfect unison.

This time it was Ron's turn to blush. "Out!" he almost laughed. "I know when I've lost a battle. Enjoy your elf-socks."

"Dinner," Ginny tentatively pointed out.

"Oh. Yes. Of course. Let's go. Then Hermione can drag us to the library again. I can hardly wait. Where have the holidays disappeared to? I can't remember ever having any. Even in my dreams I'm sitting in there and books keep raining down on me," Ron muttered and rolled off the bed. "And the large ones really hurt, I can tell you…"

**~*~*~**

"I wish the holidays would last forever," Sariss said, as she walked up the staircase from the dungeons, Severus's arm around her. "It's been so peaceful and quiet those two weeks and now listen. The walls are echoing with noise and so seems my head. All these vibrations again. I wish the holidays would last forever," she repeated.

"You've been working much more than strictly necessary, in my opinion," Severus said. "And now you're going to be even busier. Perhaps you should have used the time and rested. Merlin knows you could use it. You look tired."

"How you flatter me today…" she said sarcastically.

"If I didn't know you so well, I wouldn't see the signs, believe me. To everyone else you look perfect and radiant, as always."

"But not to you."

"You've been working way too much considering that you hardly sleep. And don't tell me that you sleep when I sleep. I know you don't."

"You never know what might prove to have been necessary to do. You know why I don't sleep unless it's inevitable. You also know that work takes my mind off things…"

"What were you working on all day long, every day? It can't have been only the N.E.W.Ts—."

"I think I made up for my long absences over the day at night, didn't I?" She looked up at him, winked and moved closer to him. The strawberry and vanilla fragrance of her hair invaded his senses, bringing memories of pleasant and passionate nights to his mind.

"Hmm…"

"What, hmm?"

"I'm trying to think of a way to claim your days, too…" Severus drawled into her ear. "I think I'm already growing jealous of the students who'll see you hour upon hour…"

"They'll never see me remotely in a way you'll see me later tonight…" she said suggestively. But then a look of terror crossed her face. "Oh, gods, the Great Hall will be full of students staring at me, at you, at us!"

Severus raised his eyebrows. "So what? What's the difference between a few students and the whole lot?"

She grew thoughtful. "They're… There… I guess, there isn't that much of a difference, is there? Apart from the number of eyes boring into me and the multitude of emotions confusing me—."

"I don't think that will be much of a problem. If it threatens to get too much," Severus said dryly, as they crossed the Entrance Hall; a few students walking past them, throwing them curious glances, "you tell me and I'll kiss you senseless instantly. That should cause at least ninety percent of the people in there to faint immediately. Problem solved."

"What would I do without you? I can't remember what I did when you weren't there to put me back together when I went to pieces—and I did that much more often than you could ever imagine. Thank you so much, Severus." She stood on tiptoes. "May I?" She bit her lip. "Here? Now?"

"It would be my profoundest pleasure," he mumbled before she kissed him. Right in the middle of the Entrance Hall, with students walking past them, gasping, blushing, staring—and sniggering and… _high-fiving_ each other?

**~*~*~**

"See? I told you," Ginny almost squealed.

"He washed his hair. Again. I thought it was a one-timer. We can't call him 'slimy, greasy git' anymore…" Seamus said.

"Too bad," Dean joined in.

"Just switch to… I can't think of a proper insult. Someone help me out there," Ron said.

The one person who could certainly give Ron a hand with that walked past right on cue.

Malfoy. And Crabbe and Goyle in his wake, as usual.

"I think I'm going to be sick," Harry heard Malfoy mutter to Crabbe and Goyle. "All this lovey-dovey… Disgusting. The bloody traitor."

"There you have your insults," Harry said.

"Not quite what I had in mind. I'll pass."

"They go so well together," Hermione said approvingly. "What do you say, Ginny?"

"I agree. They seem to have waited for each other all their lives," she replied, chancing a look at Harry as though she wanted to say, 'The same as I've been admiring you from afar for years.' "Looks like all Snape needed all those years was a bit of loving." She grinned.

"Yuck! Girls," Ron said. "Women," he corrected himself quickly at the look the two girls—_women_, sorry—gave him.

"Are we going to hang around here forever? I'm hungry," Neville said. "And all this Snape here, Ravon there stuff is starting to get on my nerves… Parvati! Sorry, guys, got to go… Parvati, wait!"

"Hey, there's Lavender!" And Seamus, too, was off.

"What a sad life. Looks like I'm the only single in here. What am I doing wrong?" Dean said. "Even Snape manages to get himself a girl."

"I'd say she caught him. You'll just have to wait for a girl who does the same—."

"Ginny, never in my life do I want to quarrel that much with a girl, before the fates decide for me to finally get her. I'm cured already. I'll stay single. Yep. Settled." Suddenly he grinned. "Well, you never know what comes along…"

As the group of Gryffindors entered the Great Hall, it was almost a shock to them how buzzing with life the room was again. Harry had gotten used to the quietness. But now it was like a beehive again.

They took their places at the Gryffindor table. The golden plates and goblets were set up as usual.

Professor McGonagall demanded silence.

Dumbledore stood up. "It's good to see you're safely back. All of you," he said. "And I do hope you enjoyed your last holidays before the exams; I daresay you'll be quite busy from now on till they come up. Now chomp, chomp."

With that, food appeared on the plates.

"I can hardly look away from Snape and Ravon," Lavender said. "It's so strange. As if I had a really weird dream…"

"I know what you mean," Ron mumbled, stuffing mashed potatoes in his mouth. "And I've had to watch this for two weeks already—."

"And you have been complaining about horrible mental images for even longer than that, isn't it so?" Hermione said sternly, but a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.

"Say, Parvati, you didn't happen to have another vision during the holidays, did you?" 

"Oh, please, Lavender. It's embarrassing enough that I had to have the one in Trelawney's class. At first, I thought it was cool. But then Professor Trelawney always looked at me like she wanted to prompt me to have another one. No one ever asked me if I wanted that."

"Don't worry, Parvi, maybe it was an accident and won't happen again," Neville said.

"I hope so. It felt so weird, as though my soul left my body for a moment—I don't really remember. But I don't want that to happen again."

"Look at it this way, Parvati, at least you predicted something we can look forward to," Ginny said, patting Parvati's shoulder.

"Yeah," Harry joined in. "As long as you make prophecies like that one…"

"Well, could've been worse, couldn't it?" Parvati said. "But I'll pass anyway—that is, if it were possible, I would."

"How's your grandmother, Neville? Is she better?" Hermione asked.

"Oh, she's quite alright again. It wasn't that bad after all. She just needed a few days of care, calm and rest and when I left for school again, she was up and about again—and will hopefully remember to send me my Remembrall…"

When they had finished their meals, Dumbledore stood up once more and said, "And now I wish you all a good night."

**~*~*~**

Severus was so violently ripped out of his for once dreamless slumber that he jerked awake and threw Sariss, who had been sleeping with her arm and leg over him and her head resting on his chest, off the bed. Thus, she too awoke.

He couldn't suppress a grunt of pain. Agonizing pain was shooting up his arm, the constant reminder of missed chances and wrong choices…

"Wha—?" she said sleepily, and scrambled to her feet, her toes catching in the long flowing skirt of her nightgown, as she stumbled back towards the bed.

"Arm. Dark. Mark," Severus forced out, reaching out for her, as her icy touch seemed to help against the pain.

And this time it helped too. As soon as her hand rested on Severus's left forearm where the Dark Mark was burning again, the pain seeped away, although he caught his breath at first contact. Wordlessly, she had put her cold palm on his blazing mark again and pulled him into her arms, his not completely suppressed groan muffled in her hair. She was gently and soothingly stroking his neck; even her scent was soothing. As always, there was a distinct aroma of strawberry and vanilla and perhaps roses around her.

"Thank you," Severus sighed with relief. "I'm… Well, looks like I… I'm sorry. I threw you right across the room."

"Don't mention it. So you're giving me back what I gave to you. A few bruises and a faintly aching elbow versus a livid burning skull-shaped scar… I think we have a winner," she said dryly. She hated being woken up in the middle of the night except perhaps for the occasions when Severus had special _intentions _that would then greatly appease her. Thus her sarcasm.

"Forgive me?" Severus chanced once more.

"Why now?" She drew out of his embrace, her brows furrowed in thought. "What are they up to? What's going on?"

"I don't know…"

**~*~*~**

"Welcome, my faithful and loyal servants," the Dark Lord's hissing voice penetrated the gloom of a grey stone room. Only a few torches on the walls threw a faint yellowish light on the assembled Death Eaters. They were many. At least ten dozens or more.

Voldemort was up to something really vicious, apparently.

"This is the night on which we'll finally execute my well-planned scheme that I've developed to show all those who try to deceive me that they had better not been foolish enough to think they would survive their treachery." A manic grin spread over the Dark Lord's ugly face. "Lucius, my faithful servant, hand out the Portkeys. We'll go hunt down the traitors tonight." He bent closer to Lucius Malfoy, who was not yet wearing his mask, and whispered, "They are among us already. And they aren't even aware of the fact that we know them. No doubt, there are others… But they too will make mistakes… And they too will be killed in due time when I shall decree it so."

Shivers ran over Harry's spine as he heard those words.

"Yes, my Master." Malfoy began to hand out Portkeys, setting them on the floor before the rows of Death Eaters who then assembled around them.

"Everything is in readiness, Master. We merely await your word."

At Voldemort's command, every single one of them touched one of the objects and vanished. The Dark Lord's laughter echoed around the chamber—.

And in the seventh-year boys' dormitory, Harry Potter woke up with a start, not remembering every detail, but only that once more he had dreamt of Voldemort. That, he only knew because of his stinging and prickling scar…

Harry shook his head and climbed out of the bed, reaching for his glasses and his watch. It had an illuminated display—similar to a Muggle watch—a nice and useful charm Hermione had cast on it when Harry had received the wristwatch for his sixteenth birthday. Ginny had given it to him. And there was something engraved, too. Harry knew it by heart. _To Harry Potter, the best (boy-)friend a girl can find. All my love. Ginny._

Harry put on his glasses as well as the watch. It was 4:12 am. 

He felt he couldn't sleep any more today. His scar was hurting badly, even throbbing a bit. Harry rubbed the back of his hand over it—that helped sometimes—but it didn't stop this time.

Putting on a dressing gown over his pyjamas, he stepped into a pair of slippers and crept out of the dorm and down the staircase. 

In the common room, he slumped into an armchair by the fireplace and stared into the small and faintly bluish flames, while the scar twitched and stabbed violently for quite some more time. Harry didn't even register when it stopped since he dozed off in spite of himself.

He was awoken by Ginny when it was time to get ready for breakfast and lessons…

**~*~*~**

The following day, anxious voices greeted the four friends as they entered the Great Hall among a throng of other Gryffindor students.

"Look here."

"Isn't it awful?"

"Let me see…"

"What's it say?"

"The _Daily Prophet_ reports that there's been another Death Eater attack…"

"Early morning hours…"

"Terrible."

"Some people were killed…"

"Death Eaters as well as those who fought 'em. 

"What's this commotion all about?" Hermione asked, as they sat down at the Gryffindor table.

"Take a look at—."

"See, Potter?" Malfoy shouted. "That's what happens when you're on the wrong side."

**~*~*~**

"…happens when you're on the wrong side."

_The wrong side…_

Sariss heard Malfoy's loathsome drawl—every Malfoy, or so it seemed, had exactly the same tone of voice—as she entered the Great Hall through a secret passage that opened near her seat. Well, it wasn't _that_ secret. She had seen Severus use it dozens of times already when she had still been a student—the reason for which might be that it led—among other destinations—down to the dungeons.

**Some things never change. **

_Instead, they repeat themselves. _

**Let's hope the outcome is the same, too. You'll see to it, won't you?**

**~*~**

_The nights were getting longer; Hallowe'en was approaching fast. Hagrid had been growing quite impressive pumpkins all summer and had already started to hollow them out, so some stools could be put in them. Even though Voldemort was at the height of his power, Sariss felt safe at Hogwarts and enjoyed the anticipation-laden atmosphere as much as she could—until…_

_"So little Sariss doesn't have a mother anymore. Pity," Chloe drawled, approaching her._

_Sariss had been sitting in a corner of the Slytherin common room absorbed in a book. Rick and Aurora had gone to the library to finish their History of Magic essays before the weekend began. Sariss had stayed behind. She had wanted to finish the book, which was about an evil Dark Lord who was to be overthrown by people who seemingly had no chance of ever defeating him—yet they'd won some battles already and Sariss hoped strongly they would be victorious in the War, too. The story greatly resembled that of the wizarding world as it was now. Sariss needed a happy ending—in both cases…_

_"All alone. Isn't it touching? Did her so-called friends desert scary Sariss?"_

_"I heard she doesn't even know who her father is," Susan picked up where Chloe had left off, throwing her reddish-blond tresses back over her shoulder in a movement full of arrogance and vanity—quite impressive for a hardly twelve-year-old. But then again, those two girls weren't exactly your typical twelve-year-olds. _

_Leaning towards her best friend, she continued as if Sariss wasn't even there, "She looks like a Mudblood, so she must be one. Dirty little Mudblood."_

_Sariss started trembling at the menace she felt coming from them._

_"Ordinary face, ordinary hair, so ordinary that it almost hurts to look at so much average gathered in a single place."_

_"Whoever heard of a Mudblood in Slytherin?"_

_"It's beyond me what a pureblood witch could find on a dirty, ordinary Muggle to—."_

_"Shut up!" Sariss shouted. She looked up, strands of her hair that had escaped her braid falling into her face, and glared daggers particularly at Chloe. "Don't even dare to mention my mother and father! It is people like your parents who've made Voldemort powerful enough to kill whomever he wishes to kill…" Sariss's skin prickled with static energy. "My father certainly was a good man!"_

_The yellow-haired girl sighed exaggeratedly. "The Ravons once were a quite respected pureblood family, did you know that?" she sneered. "I say were, because they apparently have chosen the wrong side… Which means that you as the last one, if I understood correctly, won't be among us for much longer. I'd watch my back if I were you—not that it would be of much—." _

_She broke off suddenly, turning around quickly since a water pitcher on a nearby table had shattered, then an inkbottle trembled, too, and exploded right over Hugh Crane's DADA essay. "Ravon!" his annoyed yell pierced the room. "That was you, wasn't it?"_

_Sariss was balling her little fists, breathing hard, trembling from head to toe. If looks could kill…_

_Susan and Chloe stared at her with wide eyes, then turned and raced out of the common room, the damp stonewall closing behind them again._

_Sariss could breathe properly again._

_"Ravon!"_

_"Oh!" She bit her lip and reluctantly walked towards the boy who was looking at her, a very annoyed expression on his face. "I'm sorry… you know… they just made me so…" she stuttered apologetically._

_"Yes, I heard what they said; they shouldn't have… But neither should you. Damn, now I have to write it all over again. I was almost finished!" he muttered, trying to save at least parts of what he had written already._

_"I can't just ignore it. That's my problem. It's as though they were inside my head—." She had started pacing back and forth in front of the low table the boy was sitting at and sat down on the floor. The fire was very nice and warm…_

_"You are strange," he said but smiled suddenly as he said it._

_"I know," she sighed and smiled back up at him—she couldn't help it. "Listen, I'm really sorry. You can borrow my essay if you want. I finished it yesterday already." _

_"Thanks." He was obviously highly surprised at her offer. Well, of course, he was. Who wouldn't be? They hadn't spoken five words to each other since school had started and now they had had a real conversation…_

_She jumped to her feet, quickly raced up to the dormitory, undid the Locking Spell she had put on her trunk (with roommates like the ones she had this was definitely a necessity), grabbed the parchment, re-cast the spell and was back in the common room within a matter of seconds._

_"But promise you won't just copy it. At least switch a few words or paragraphs to make it less obvious, alright?" she said in a small voice, nervously shuffling her feet. "Binns might be old but he's not stupid."_

_"No problem."_

_"I'm over there so you can give it back to me once you're finished. I wouldn't want to leave it lying around here with Chloe and Susan only waiting to get one over me. Not to mention Malfoy…" she trailed off as she made her back into the corner where the tome of a book she had been reading was still sitting exactly like she had put it down._

_"Hey Ravon!"_

_She looked up questioningly._

_"You're not as bad as they say."_

_She snorted and rolled her eyes. "No one could ever be as bad as they say—and they don't even know me."_

_He laughed. "Thanks."_

_A few days later the news that the Dark Lord had fallen spread like wildfire—and certain Slytherin girls had to eat their own words. Meaning that their parents were arrested as Death Eaters. It was them who had chosen the wrong side…_

**~*~**

"What's going on?" Sariss asked, having approached Dumbledore, who had a very serious expression on his face; the twinkling had disappeared from his eyes.

"Bad news, once again. Here, see for yourself." He handed her an issue of the Daily Prophet. She quickly skimmed through the article on the front page.

_DEATH EATERS STRIKE AGAIN_

_Once again, like so many times before in the last few years, the Death Eaters, servants of the Dark Lord, also called You-Know-You or He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, have struck the wizarding world right in its core…_

_There have been at least eleven casualties; ten of them unidentified as of yet. Many a wizard and witch have been injured severely or lightly. Some of the more severely wounded people are in critical condition and might add to the count… (Names not published because of safety precautions. We humbly apologize.)_

_The one casualty that has been identified, however, is a female Death Eater by the name of Chloe M. Lestrange, daughter of the infamous Lestrange couple who had spent almost fourteen years in Azkaban before the Dementors joined the Dark side and released their prisoners on He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's command…_

_The Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge, still tries to calm the wizarding population—not very successfully… _

_Despite your better judgement, dear readers… _

_In denial… Must not be re-elected if he keeps this up…_

_Your _Daily Prophet_ reporter Vera Truz will keep you well informed concerning…_

Another one of those articles. There had been so many lately, Sariss had hardly paid attention to them anymore.

_So that's why the Dark Mark hurt so badly last night… Voldemort called his followers together…_

Chloe Lestrange dead. 

_Not a great loss,_ she thought evilly. _Bitch. Death Eater._ _Like father like daughter… _She froze at this thought.No. That didn't always have to be so, did it?

Sariss's eyes were drawn to the picture below the article.

Several wizards were rushing through the black-and-white scene trying to save what was left of a pile of rubbish that must once have been a row of houses or so, restoring broken things, carrying away what could not be repaired even by magic anymore.

And above all the Dark Mark hung in the sky. Fading, but still clearly visible—

"Good morning."

—illuminating the devastation…

"Sariss?"

She jerked back to reality. "What? Severus."

"What's wrong?"

"Take a look at this," Sariss said softly.

He took the paper from her, his eyes darting from left to right several times. "So that's why he called," he muttered. Then he looked at her and Dumbledore. "Any news yet who the casualties are?"

"No. We don't know any more than the _Daily Prophet_ reported," Dumbledore said gravely. "But I fear we'll learn it soon enough."

"Do you think…?" Severus began.

"I'm afraid, yes," Dumbledore replied.

"What?" Sariss asked. She felt as though everybody knew what the topic of conversation was, everybody but her. "Do you have an idea who might have been killed?"

"Yes," Dumbledore sighed.

"Well then, who?"

"You understand that I cannot tell you this before it has been confirmed?"

"Of course. Spies."

"I haven't been the only one," Severus said. "Fortunately. We would have been in a lot of trouble if I had been the only spy—although back then I did not know that. I really thought they were all loyal Death Eaters."

He had put his arms around her waist from behind while speaking, resting his chin on her shoulder. An open display of affection for everyone to see. She appreciated those more than she could ever have thought.

"It would have been my fault if you didn't get information anymore," Sariss said, leaning back a little. He was like a living, breathing blanket.

"Only Voldemort's fault it would have been, my dear," Dumbledore pointed out. "But it would have been worth it. Even if we hadn't needed you to set the past right."

"Yes, it definitely was worth it," Severus said, bringing her hand to his lips, thus magicking a small smile on Sariss's face. "And much more."

Dumbledore sighed. The twinkle returned to his ice-blue eyes. "Young love. A glimmer of light in those dark times."

They sat down and started on their breakfast, eating in silence, only exchanging glances when the flapping of wings could be heard, waiting for the arrival of the post owls, but none of them came to them and brought news about the article—yet. Sariss feared bad news would travel fast…

Which it would indeed. Later…

**Next chapter:**

A rather enjoyable Potions lesson, bad news for Pansy, Malfoy's an utter bastard and Sariss strikes back. Ginny writes home, Sariss still mourns her friends and Severus feels bad watching her like that. The last Quidditch game of the season—and Sariss answers a question Severus wishes he hadn't asked. And the students eagerly look forward to their N.E.W.Ts. Not.


	30. Absentminded Eyes

**Author's note:** Thank you, Miriam. As always. :)

Chapter 29: Absent-minded Eyes

**_Everywhere I look I see her smile, her absent-minded eyes  
And she has kept me wondering for so long how this thing could go wrong  
It seems to me that we are both the same, playing the same game  
But as darkness falls this true love falls apart into a riddle of her heart  
She's so vulnerable, like china in my hands  
She's so vulnerable and I don't understand.  
I could never hurt the one I love; she's all I've got.  
But she's so vulnerable_**

_—Roxette: Vulnerable_****

"What is it all about?" Ginny asked. "Who was… killed?"

"It doesn't say. Not yet," Seamus said.

"We'll learn soon enough, Gin. No use worrying about it unless we have a reason for it," Ron told Ginny.

"Ron's right. Don't worry, love," Harry joined in. 

"Have some orange juice. It'll make you feel better," Hermione said.

"I lost my appetite," Ginny muttered.

"Virginia Weasley—."

"I've got to write to Mum," Ginny said quickly, before Ron could launch into his 'big-brother-tirade'. "See you later." And off she went.

Ron shrugged. "That's what Ginny does. When concerned about something, write to Mum."

**~*~*~**

Potions lessons were rather enjoyable now. Snape had stopped favouring the Slytherins all too obviously and even found it in himself to say some almost kind words to Neville who actually managed to brew a halfway acceptable ("the orange is still too yellowish—but nonetheless…") Wit-sharpening Potion (The Extra-Sharp Version) all by himself. Hermione had been glancing in Neville's direction all the time, but everything went smoothly without her having to interfere.

Professor Ravon must really have a good influence on the man. He hadn't so much as sneered. Harry also noticed—and was very amused at that—that Snape seemed to have actually washed his hair again. He seemed to do that regularly now. Definitely quite in love, the man.

"Colour's alright," Snape said, pouring a bit of Harry's potion onto a small plate and examining it closely. "Could use a tiny bit more of armadillo bile, though."

That was the moment when Harry thought he was really in the wrong movie. A potion he had made was actually 'alright.' And to hear that out of Snape's mouth… It sounded unreal. But the expression on Ron's face and Hermione's broad grin and wink confirmed that Harry had not imagined this lesson. If that hadn't done it already, then Draco Malfoy's scowl would have…

When the lesson was over, Snape swept back into his office like an overgrown bat would return to its lair—after having given them a bit of homework. Not nearly as much as he had been wont to do.

"Professor Ravon seems to have worked a miracle," Hermione grinned as they made their way out of the room. "Who would have thought a Potions lesson would end without Gryffindor having fewer points afterwards?"

"Creepy, that is," Ron said. "I know I already said this once, but what happened to the _real_ Snape?"

"Has it ever occurred to you that this might be the real Snape?" Hermione said, pretty amused.

"Well, now that he doesn't have to keep on pretending the Death Eater anymore…" Harry pointed out. "And maybe Professor Ravon has given him a good talking-to. They hadn't been talking to each other for quite some time, remember? And then they had been bickering and then… Actually reminds me a bit of the two of you." Harry curiously awaited Ron and Hermione's reactions…

"Oh, come on!" Ron began. "You can hardly—."

"I'm going to be sick!" Harry should have known better than to think Malfoy would keep his mouth shut. "The bloody traitor…"

Could it be that Malfoy wasn't very creative? Or was he—in a case like this—just lacking the fitting vocabulary?

"Can't bear to see someone being happy, can you, Malfoy?"

"Sucking up to Snape now, are we?" he drawled, Crabbe and Goyle positioned in their usual places, slightly behind Malfoy to his right and left.

"No sucking up needed here, thank you very much. Snape's happy, we're happy, even Neville's happy, and that after Double Potions," Ron said.

"Yeah, Snape actually being _happy_. Ravon must be a bloody great f—."

"Ten points off Slytherin!" Ron and Hermione said immediately, looking at each other, surprised that the respective other person had the same idea.

"You can't—."

Ron looked smug. "Of course, I can. I'm Head Boy. Although my decision must be confirmed by a teacher if the… er…"

"…culprit should object," Hermione finished. "Just for your information, Malfoy, you just lost twenty points. Which teacher will it be? Snape, McGonagall, Dumbledore or even Ravon?"

"Ah, yes, I think it would be best to see Snape on that matter," Harry said mock-thoughtfully. "As your Head of House… Would you like to go to him now or rather later and explain why you had points taken away? I'd love to walk you to his office, really."

"Me too. I'd even wait for you to come back out—_if_ you come out again," Ron said gleefully.

"You're so going to regret this," he said.

Crabbe and Goyle did nothing. Apparently, they were intelligent enough not to make their house lose even more points. Intelligent! Harry could hardly believe that he thought of that word in combination with those two thickheads.

"I don't think so. You never made me regret anything concerning you."

"Well, you have a large family. Too large for my taste, and much too Muggle-loving in the Dark Lord's opinion…" he trailed off and swept past a stunned Ron, a shocked Hermione, and a Harry whose thoughts had automatically landed on Ginny.

"Don't tell Ginny what he said," Harry whispered. "She's anxious and scared as it is."

"Oh, dear, I just hope everything's alright at home."

"I agree. We shouldn't let Ginny know about this incident. She wouldn't be able to grasp a single clear thought if we did. And that when she's supposed to prepare for her exams."

**~*~*~**

At lunch the same day, an eagle owl swept through the Great Hall and delivered a letter to Pansy Parkinson. It was a black-rimmed letter. With trembling hands, she took it off the owl's leg and simply stared at it for a few moments, while the owl, having fulfilled its task, soared away.

Pansy swallowed hard and then broke the seal and opened the envelope. Hands shaking and a fearful expression on her face, she removed the parchment from the envelope and slowly unfolded it.

She had hardly read it when her face crumpled, and she jumped up and ran out of the Great Hall as fast as she could, before her sobs could be heard all too clearly.

"Now they're already attacking and killing Slytherins! I'd never have thought they'd kill their own kind," Ron said helpfully.

Ginny had become white as a wall.

**~*~*~**

Pansy Parkinson was sitting in the back row, her eyes red-rimmed, cheeks tearstained, strands of her reddish-blond hair clinging to her face, and sniffing. Two of her friends were trying to soothe her, stroking her back and patting her shoulder. Some other students, Gryffindors and Slytherins alike, were throwing pitiful glances at her.

"Miss Parkinson?" Professor Ravon asked in a hushed voice, approaching the crying girl slowly so as not to startle her. "It is not necessary for you to be here right now. Perhaps you would like to spend some time in the infirmary? Madam Pomfrey would surely take good care of you." And in a very quiet and sad voice she added, "Merlin knows she has much practice in those things…"

"That's what happens to traitors," Draco Malfoy drawled, sneering at the two of them—Harry couldn't determine whether his words were directed at Pansy or Professor Ravon. However, he suspected the latter. "Soon you won't have to worry about anything anymore."

The girl started crying openly now and buried her face in her hands.

Professor Ravon glared at Malfoy for several long moments with this now—strange at it was, but somehow, to Harry, it looked right—completely green eyes of hers, but did not reply to this. He wondered if anyone else had noticed the difference.

Instead of gracing Malfoy's taunt with a reply (but clearly seething with anger, as the air seemed to prickle with magic), she gently put her arm around Pansy and pulled her to her feet, one of her gloved hands gently stroking the girl's back. (Harry made a mental note about the fact that the Professor was suddenly wearing gloves, when she had never done so under normal circumstances.) "Come with me, Miss Parkinson. I'll take you to Madam Pomfrey… And you," she said deadly quietly, once more turning around on her way out and scanning the classroom, "you stay where you are and be quiet if you know what's good for you!" But even though she spoke softly, her voice could be heard clearly throughout the entire classroom. She might as well have screamed them.

"Let's go, Miss Parkinson," she continued much more gently. "Come on. No need to hurry. Take your time." She carefully steered the crying girl out through the doorway, leaving the door open so that, perhaps, she would hear if something was going on for some time after she'd left the room and on her way back. Maybe Filch was sneaking around in the corridor, too…

Harry suspected that her words had been a warning—especially for Malfoy—not to gloat about the sadness and misery of a girl who had just lost her parents. And although Harry had never exactly liked Pansy very much, he felt for her.

Malfoy, however, seemed unaffected by Ravon's warning. He sneered as evilly as ever, turning to some of his fellow Slytherins and speaking in a hushed voice.

Harry noticed that the Slytherins had divided; Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, Nott and Millicent Bulstrode were huddled together around a table, while Blaise Zabini, Morag McDougal and two more Slytherins—Harry just couldn't remember their names—stood around the desk Pansy had been sitting at only minutes ago. They all were deep in conversation.

Harry exchanged glances with Ron and Hermione. "What was that?"

"Can't be a good sign when Malfoy starts uttering threats openly in front of a teacher."

"I wouldn't want to be you the moment she comes back if you paid me a million Galleons, Malfoy!" Ron shouted over to where Malfoy was.

"You'd faint dead if you ever saw that much money, Weasley," Malfoy retorted.

"Seems like this time you've gone too far," Zabini threw in.

"If she'd looked at me like she looked at you, all that would be left of me would be a puddle on the floor," Neville said.

"One more word and you _will_ be a puddle on the floor, Longbottom."

"Should have watched your mouth, Malfoy," Dean said casually. "Oh, that I lived the day to see you squirm under someone's gaze…" 

"And the gaze of someone who's so much smaller than you," Parvati said.

"Not _that_ much," Lavender said. 

"She's so cool," Seamus whispered, amazed.

"What's that? You're actually defending this _thing_? Are you deaf, blind or just plain stupid? She is his daughter, for heaven's sake! Do you really think she wouldn't join him when he is in her blood?" Malfoy said, still sneering.

"Why, now he's a Death Eater and doesn't know a thing."

"Sooner or later she'll realize to whom she belongs to and will ask for forgiveness."

"You don't know what you're talking about, Malfoy. You haven't seen what I saw. If you had, you'd know perfectly well that Voldemort himself made her turn away from him. You only know what your father told you, isn't that so?" Harry said angrily. 

"Yeah, I wonder which parts he left out," Ron muttered.

"I'd be careful if I were you. The next time she sees Voldemort she might just give back what he did to her. And when this happens—_when_, not _if_—you'll be in a lot of trouble."

"Right," Malfoy drawled. "And how did you come to the realization that it will be this way?"

"The prophecy," Harry continued, having stood up and walked towards the other boy, ignoring that Malfoy had interrupted him. "Voldemort," Harry noticed with glee that—despite everything—Malfoy actually winced at the mentioning of the Dark Lord's name, "will fall; there's no doubt about that. The question is only _when_ this will happen. And I believe she'll have her say in this." 

"So you actually think she'll turn against her own father?" Malfoy spoke at almost the same time that Harry had spoken.

"She already has, I might think. Not everyone acts like you, Malfoy," Hermione said.

"You've got to be kidding. She is your natural enemy, Potter."

"No matter who she is, she is _Voldemort's_ enemy. And that makes her _my_ best friend." Ron coughed. "No offence, Ron," Harry added quickly.

"None taken," Ron grinned. "So, Malfoy, what's it like awaiting… say, twelve years of scrubbing the trophy room?"

"Shut up, Weasley."

"You had better have kept your mouth shut earlier, I'd say. Ravon will give you detention, there's not doubt about that." Harry could tell Ron was enjoying this immensely. It was not often that he had one over Malfoy—having been made Head Boy, however, had its advantages—and Harry, too, had to admit that it felt great.

"Soon she'll wish she had never crossed the path of a Malfoy," Malfoy snarled.

"She already does, Mr. Malfoy," a familiar voice said. Professor Ravon had returned, having seemingly appeared out of nowhere. She looked a bit flushed. She must have run—or perhaps she had transformed into her Animagus form (although Harry didn't know what kind of animal she was. He had simply forgotten to enquire any further. Hermione must know. But it didn't really matter.) That would explain how fast and unexpectedly she had returned. 

"I have just spoken to the Headmaster," she went on. "You will be suspended from Defence Against the Dark Arts for the remainder of the month and you will keep your distance from Miss Parkinson. You won't touch her; you won't talk to her; you won't even look at her the wrong way. Do I make myself perfectly clear? If anything otherwise reaches the ears of any Professor in this castle, you'll be on top of the list."

"You can't do this. You can't suspend me. Exams are coming up," Malfoy replied, his voice not quite as steady as it had been earlier that lesson.

"Oh, indeed they are," Professor Ravon agreed in a sickeningly sweet voice. "I am sure you of all people can do without my teaching you. However, if you think you ought to know about the content of the lessons you are going to miss, you surely have friends who'd let you borrow their notes, don't you?"

"You're going to regret this."

"Be careful, Mr. Malfoy. You don't want me as your enemy…" she whispered deadly calmly. Harry had a sudden déjà-vu of Snape speaking to Quirrell quite some time ago… Perhaps, you had to have seen some things in your life to be able to sound like that. Harry wondered what things exactly that could be, which feelings could make you sound like that if necessary? Hate? No, that didn't seem the right one. How about fear? Fear. And accepting that fear, harbouring it until it turned into something else… What a strange thought. To what would fear turn if you harboured it carefully? Deadly calm? Calmness despite fury? And she was furious; one could see it in her face. Her fury was all around her. But she didn't give in to it.

Then she added, almost inaudibly, her lips barely moving, "Watch your back. I know many things… about you…"

At that, Malfoy blanched slightly if that was possible being as light-skinned as he was. He had obviously noticed—as well as Harry had—that Professor Ravon had quoted what he'd said quite some time ago, when the inkbottle had exploded in his face. And she had given a perfect imitation of his tone of voice, too. In addition to that, her eyes slithered over his left forearm. The Dark Mark. And she didn't even bother to do that inconspicuously. No, even her eyes said, 'I know.' Harry could tell she enjoyed giving Malfoy, the spoilt Death Eater brat, a taste of his own medicine.

"Now if you would _please_ leave my classroom and see Professor Sprout for your detention?" she asked, sneering at him in a way that reminded Harry strongly of the way that Snape had been sneering at _him_ quite often in the past. "I hear the Venomous Tentaculas are teething…"

"You're so going to regret this. Once I tell my father—."

"Get out of my classroom!"

Malfoy strode out of the room with as much dignity as he could muster, not closing the door behind him. That, however, was no problem since Professor Ravon only made a small movement with her hand, as though she were chasing a fly away, and the door slammed shut.

"Right then, now that we settled this unpleasant business," she exhaled deeply, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear, "let's—finally—start the lesson. Today's subject: The Lethifold—another one of those particularly nasty creatures you had better know how to deal with…"

**~*~*~**

During the rest of the week, Ginny had been very anxious and very pale. The recent Death Eater raid worried her visibly.

Ron, Harry and Hermione hadn't told her about what Malfoy had said, just as they had decided, but instead tried to reassure her and be around her as much as possible to distract her from thinking about those things. However, that hadn't been a very successful mission since they really needed to be in the library and revise or practice some spells in empty classrooms—without stumbling accidentally over Professors Ravon and Snape (although not literally.) But somehow the few occasions when Ginny had only seen them walking down the corridor, she had to bite back obvious giggles. Those occasions and some others—the ones when she sneaked off with Harry and they went on the lookout for an undisturbed place (and it was hard to find one these days because everyone needed rooms to do some practising… Spells. Practising _spells_).

And of course, there was Quidditch. Every day, Harry called the team together. Every evening, they practiced. No matter what, the Slytherins would not get their filthy Death Eater hands on the cup. No way. Period. 

During those hours, Ginny was almost back to normal. As soon as practice would be over, she'd slip back into her solemnity.

But other than during said moments, she was so distressed and distracted by the thought that something awful might have happened to a member of her family, that she couldn't even properly concentrate on her homework. At times, she simply sat at the window, probably scanning the sky for an owl to deliver the letter she'd been longing for since the day—the hour, the very minute—she'd sent it…

It wasn't until Friday that she received an answer to her letter. For reasons of safety, the names of the wounded people hadn't been published. There were only news of some other people dying of their injuries—and that was a rare thing in the wizarding world, as Harry learnt. Bones could be re-grown; limbs could be replaced in most cases, people who, in the Muggle world, would have died of the sheer loss of blood could be saved so very easily. That was by most of the students thought to be the most horrifying thing of all. Be wounded so severely that you didn't die quickly but instead slowly, in a hospital bed, every mediwizard trying to heal you but failing because of injuries whose description made Harry imagine terrible visions of torn and devastated dead bodies piled up in heaps.

One night, Ginny had even sneaked into the boys' dormitory and woken Harry because she had had a dream so terrible that she'd jerked awake gasping and crying, and had to stifle her sobs quickly so as not to wake up her dorm-mates. Harry had walked down into the common room with her and sat with her on the hearthrug in front of the fireplace where she had, still in tears, confided in him that she'd seen things that equalled Harry's imaginations in her nightmare. But unlike Harry, she'd envisioned the people all with red hair. They wore the faces of her brothers and parents and many more relatives of hers whom Harry hadn't even met yet.

That was above all wearing on her. After all, she had a very great family. And many of them were working in positions where they were likely targets—and 'too Muggle-loving' as Malfoy had so eloquently pointed out.

Sirius hadn't answered to the letter Harry had finally decided to write either.

But now she finally had received an answer.

After she'd read the letter—she all but rushed through it—she closed her eyes and breathed a sigh of relief. Then, she glanced at Harry and the others, who were watching her intently, gave a small smile and read it aloud,

_Dear Ronald and Virginia,_

_Mum told me about your letter, Ginny. She suggested I write to you directly for she had been out of her mind when she read the Daily Prophet and supposed she would have made you even more anxious than your letter indicated you are already.___

_By now, you may—or not—have received news already that some of us—that is Fred and Bill and me--were injured during said Death Eater raid. George and Charlie were lucky. They got out of it unscathed. In retrospect, we were all quite lucky to have survived. They were using curses that wounded you incurably, terrible, terrible inventions. I can still see the faces of the Parkinsons when they realized they had been discovered by the Dark Lord------No. I should stop right there. Especially for your young and innocent eyes and ears, this is nothing you should read or listen to, Ginny._

_But do not worry (this means especially you, Ginny). We all are recovering very quickly from relatively insignificant injuries considering the fact that—well, you can imagine what you don't already know that happened. There's no need to repeat it, is there? In fact, Fred and Bill were just released and are returning home as I write__this. They'll stay there for a while until they're called again. I, too, will soon join them. Mum will be happy to be able to pamper us for a while. She already threatened us she'd never let us leave the house again…_

_"The Dark Lord will never get his hands on a Weasley!" Mum vowed. You know she can sound very convincing when she's angry and worried at the same time…_

_What I actually want to say is that I love you (Yes, even you, Ron) and if everything goes well I'll be released in a couple of days to resume my work in the Ministry, which—as you may have noticed by now—does not only consist of reports about cauldron sizes and the decreasing efficacy of—. But I digress. I think I need not say any more, except that I've been thinking very much about my family recently._

_What do you think of this? Should I ask Penny to marry me? It's about high time, I daresay. I think I will do that as soon as I'm up and about again. I may not be exactly the kind of guy to be considered as romantic but I don't perceive of it as very romantic if I asked her in a letter, don't you think?_

_Ron is probably moaning with disgust now. Let me tell you this, my dear brother, you might be in for it, too, and sooner than__you might think…_

_So now that I've given you something else to occupy your minds with, you needn't worry about me._

_Your brother_

_Percy Llewellyn Weasley_

_PS: You might want to inform Harry that Mr Black is fine. He received the letter Harry wrote but can't write back for reasons that are top secret (meaning that 'Snuffles' is on a mission)._

"Oh my god!" Ron exclaimed while Harry breathed a small sigh of relief that Sirius was fine. Ginny's anxiousness had been starting to rub off on him.

"Oh, yes," Ginny said, her eyes wide. "He could've been killed!"

"No, not that! He's getting married! I don't believe it!"

**~*~*~**

"Sariss?" Severus pushed the door to her office open. They had agreed to meet at dinner in the Great Hall. She hadn't come. "Sariss, are you—"

Yes, she was there. She stood at the window, looking out over the Quidditch pitch.

"I've been waiting for you," he said.

She didn't even turn around.

"What's wrong, love?" he said softly, approaching her and gently placing his hands on her upper arms. She didn't move a muscle.

"Sariss, what happened? Please say something. Look at me."

He turned her around, taking her face in his hands, seeking her gaze. Her eyes were distant. They were open but she wasn't looking at the outside world. She was lost in her own thoughts.

"Sariss, he's not here," Severus said. "He's not here. But I am. Please." He pressed his lips against her forehead. She was freezing.

"Severus?" She blinked in surprise. "How… I said I'd be seeing you for dinner tonight…"

He merely looked at her.

"What time is it?" she asked.

"Half past seven."

"What? That's not possible. You're having me on."

"I'm not."

"But I still had plenty of time when I had finished clearing my desk…" She shook her head.

Severus felt inclined to sound light-hearted. "Maybe you got lost in your own thoughts and forgot the time about it."

"Yes, maybe—although I don't quite remember what I was thinking about."

"Maybe you were dreaming with your eyes open."

"I'm always dreaming in some way or other." Her face was screwed up in concentration as though she tried to recall the last hour. "I can't believe I drifted off like that," she muttered. "Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. It's as if I'd lost time."

"What do you mean?"

"It's as if you just sat there, thinking about—nothing… and you snap your fingers—" She did so. "—and then it's an hour later. Weird." She looked at him. "You were worried about me, right? I'm sorry. Don't be worried. I'm fine. It's nothing."

"I don't believe you."

"Why?" she asked.

"I'm not blind. You're not fine. You need more sleep. I have no idea how much magic you use to appear perfectly fine. But I simply know that your recent way of life is taking its toll on you."

"What do you want to do about it? Slip a Sleeping Draught into my goblet?" She forced a painful smile. Her play-acting grew less and less convincing with every second that passed.

"Sariss," he sighed. "I'm not commanding you to tell me what's on your mind. It's your business. I'm also not commanding you to have your nightmares. But even when you had them every night, you were more relaxed." He took her by the wrist. Her hand shook, and she noticed and tried to suppress it. "See? That trembling wasn't there a month ago. Why is it there now, what do you think?" 

She looked like a fawn caught in the flashlights of a car.

"Why do you think it's there?" He forced her to look him in the eyes. They looked dull and tired. She blinked too often.

She squirmed under his scrutinizing gaze. "I'm afraid," she said finally, after a very long time.

"You are what?" he breathed.

"I'm afraid of closing my eyes. Afraid that he won't let me wake up."

"It's only a dream," Severus said.

"But I can't do anything about it. I'm dying in it. When I wake up—before I realize that it was a dream—I fully expect to be hurting all over and be soaked in my own blood." 

Images flashed before his inner eye.

He was horrified. "It's only a dream," he repeated mechanically.

"I hate him," she whispered. "I hate him."

"Sariss…"

"He's my father and I hate him. I hate my father. My own father," she said softly, sounding slightly incredulous. "The Dark Lord is my father and he turned me into a monster, unable to sleep, unable to live, afraid to die and yet wanting to… I am evil. I must be."

"Don't say those things. You're not."

"I am my father's daughter. I am evil. I am a monster."

"No." Severus cupped her face again, almost violently running his thumbs over her cheeks. "No. You're not a monster. You're not evil."

"But it's inside me—."

"You're not evil and you're not monstrous in any way."

"Do you like making love to me?"

"What?" he asked, startled.

"Do you like it?"

"Yes, of course. If I didn't, I wouldn't. But it also scares me a bit, I must admit, because you're so strong, so different from any other woman I've known."

"Yes, I am. I could kill you right at the spot, you know? All your strength wouldn't be of any use to you…"

"Why don't you?" he asked gently.

"I don't want to."

"Listen. Everything can be used for good and for evil. It's in our hands to decide that. You made that decision."

"Did I?" She looked him in the eyes now. Her gaze was focused, piercing, like steel. Her lips were pressed tightly together. 

"Yes, because you're strong in mind. That was what I actually meant."

For a moment, she did look evil. Her face half in shadow, her eyes blazing, she looked cold and calculating. It was as if he could see her in an alternate reality, in which she had been raised to be her father's Angel of Death. He looked away. His hair stood on end. The magic poured out of her again.

"Sariss?" he asked, wary.

"I never wanted to be strong. I was forced into all of this. I only had two options. Give myself to Darkness and end up by his side anyway. Or fight it and end up… like I'm now. No, there's a third option that's out of the question now anyway. I think it would have been better if I had never fought at all. I should never have lived. So many people would live, if I hadn't."

She was being completely irrational today. "You're not saying anything I haven't heard before. What the hell is wrong with you today so you're being like that?" But as soon as he'd spoken the words, he regretted them. 

She was shivering again; her deathly-pale cheeks stained with patches of salt. He hadn't noticed that before. Maybe he had been too preoccupied with her eyes. When he looked into them, there seemed to be nothing else. Now that she'd closed them, her face wasn't overshadowed by that feature anymore.

"What's wrong today? Tell me," he said much more gently. "At breakfast, you were subdued. At lunch you hardly spoke."

She wrapped her arms around herself, trembling.

"Are you… pregnant?" he chanced, not knowing what he'd say or do if she said yes. It seemed that no Snape had ever been a good father.

She shook her head. A disbelieving look flitted across her face for a mere moment.

"So that's not it. Do you want me to go on guessing? See what wild things I can come up with?" He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. She always smiled when he did that. Not now.

It was as if she asked him to help her with her whole being. Her teeth were biting down on her lower lip—not seductively, as he was almost used to by now, no, but viciously. It seemed her hands were moving to reach out for him but then withdrew. Instead, her left hand clutched her necklace in a fist, her right hand clutching it cruelly, as if she wanted to hold back something unspeakable. Her necklace…

His brain put two and two together and finally got four.

Now he saw what was wrong with her. "Oh no," he sighed. "Has it happened on this date?"

She nodded almost imperceptibly. Her eyes were tightly shut. Her knuckles had turned bone-white.

"Hurting yourself won't accomplish anything," he said, placing his hands around hers. At first he'd wanted to say, _It__ won't bring them back. _But that was why she suffered. Because nothing would bring her best friends back. And she kept blaming herself for their deaths. One year ago. And she hadn't even left the castle to be with them for a few moments. For weeks she hadn't left the castle, he realized.

Because she was afraid.

She always looked so small when she was shaken. She always looked lost.

How come she never shared those things with anyone? She should know by now that the new and (maybe) improved Severus Snape, the Severus that smiled and loved, would listen, would comfort her, would talk to her, hold her, let her cry on his shoulder.

He tried to ease her hands apart. No use. "Stop it, come on, your pain won't make anything undone. It's not in your hands."

For a moment, she gasped for air and then said, "I swear to you, at first I didn't believe them a word when they told me whom we'd lost. I laughed. I thought it an incredible joke. They were unbeatable when they were together. How could they be—And then I saw them… Oh, god, I can't…"

She made for the door.

Severus caught her.

"I think I must be alone…" she began.

"Do you need to visit them? I'd come with you if you…" She needn't know that he'd been keeping an eye on her during her journeys there. "I'd keep watch."

She looked up at him, her eyes wide. "You would? Yes. Yes, I need to."

"You could have asked me or Dumbledore or anyone to accompany you, you know?" he said, kissing her forehead. "It would have been much easier if you'd simply said what was going on today. Why do you still keep your pain to yourself?"

She sniffed softly. "I don't want to be more of a burden than—"

"And I want to be burdened. But I'd appreciate it if you really stopped keeping things that bother you from me."

"They're none of your concern," she blocked.

"You're my concern. They're my concern," Severus said firmly. "So, do you want to go see them now?"

She nodded.

"We'd better not use broomsticks. They can be tracked too easily."

"Apparation traces are also tracked too easily." The Auror in her was taking over. Good. Her brain worked on a problem. It took her mind off how she actually felt. "Which leaves one option. We'll fly there with our own wings."

With that, they left.

Hours later, they returned. Sariss seemed to be feeling better. Severus felt worse than ever before.

He'd merely been standing there, keeping watch—at a short distance so as to give her the necessary privacy—while Sariss had dropped to her knees, her hands running over the plate that bore the names _Aurora D. Shade_ and _Rick E. Allen_—and an inscription underneath:

'_FRIENDS._

_BURYING IS EASIER THAN FORGETTING…_'

_Truer words were never carved in stone,_ Severus had thought when he'd read them.

"Your idea?" he'd asked, his voice only a whisper, when she'd run her hands over the stone in greeting, her tears dripping down on it, glittering in the moonlight. He'd known the answer. Nothing was more like her than that thought. 

She'd nodded and whispered a very soft "Yes."

After that no more words had been spoken. But her body had been speaking for her all the time; every movement, every tear, every breath, spoke volumes.

She'd seemed oblivious to his presence. He could have left without her even realizing it.

After a very long time, when he'd noticed that she'd merely been sitting there, not crying anymore, not even moving, only staring at the headstone, he'd bent down, put his arms around her, and had pulled her to her feet. He'd decided that it had to be enough. He'd made her decision for her. She hadn't objected when he'd suggested, "We should go now. It's getting late," meaning 'We must leave. It's not safe to stay here for such a long time.'

"We can Apparate into Hogsmeade now," she'd said in a small, sad voice, "and then fly only a short distance. I don't feel like flying all the way."

Severus had nodded. If they left any Apparition traces on their way back, it wouldn't prove a risk. They'd already be at Hogwarts—or at least past the wards—and protected if someone had followed them without Sariss realizing it. She would have felt them, surely.

"We can walk from there if you'd prefer that." Severus had never before felt so much in the wrong place as he'd felt during the time Sariss had sat at her friends' grave. And when he'd pulled her up, he could feel the exhaustion in her, the exhaustion that only desperate tears gave rise to. Where had been that fierce Auror, the patient interrogator, the stubborn woman who had stood up against him, yelled at him, made love to him?

The Sariss he'd looked in the face at that moment hadn't seemed to be any of those things. 

"No, I want to get home as quickly as possible at all," she'd breathed, hugging herself.

_Home.__ Hogwarts has always been her home. True. But now it's not merely her home anymore. It has become her haven._

As soon as they'd been back at Hogwarts, she'd said "Good night" and left for her rooms. She hadn't even kissed him goodnight. She'd always kissed him goodnight. Not that night.

Severus still thought about those strange hours when he went to bed—alone—and willed himself to fall asleep. However, he felt he hadn't been sleeping very long nor very deep when he awoke. He thought he'd heard a noise. 

There was another one. And another. Light footsteps and the rustle of something that reminded him of a quite familiar satin nightgown.

"Sariss?" was his first thought, and he voiced it.

"Yes," came her whispering voice. Her clothes made a rustling sound as she took off her dressing gown and slipped out of her shoes.

Another set of soft rustles indicated that she was moving towards him.

He felt the covers drawn back from him, felt her climb into his bed and draw the covers back up. Her arm slid around him as the cool silk of her nightgown and her cold body made contact with his back and she kissed his shoulder, snuggling into him, her little hand splayed against his chest. 

He turned around and drew her into his arms. Wordlessly.

**~*~*~**

The Gryffindor team had been practicing almost excessively during the last weeks so as not to lose the cup to Slytherin in this last game. Harry felt his entire life consisted of practising Quidditch and preparing for the N.E.W.Ts. They needed to win by at least one hundred and fifty points, since Slytherin had all but flattened Ravenclaw.

"This is Quidditch! Welcome to this year's last game of Quidditch! It's Gryffindor versus Slytherin!"

The two teams rose up in the air as their names were called. Madam Hooch released first the Snitch—it disappeared immediately—and then she threw the Quaffle in the air to be caught by one of the Chasers. The two Bludgers swished over the pitch on the lookout for an unaware player.

Harry had immediately risen high in the air and slowly circled the pitch, his eyes scanning for the Snitch—when he wasn't colliding with Malfoy, that is.

"Ouch! Stop that, Malfoy!"

"Keep out of my way, Scarface!"

Madam Hooch's whistle ended their row before it had really begun. "Penalty shot for Gryffindor, Mr Malfoy. You know why."

Within seconds, Ginny had gotten hold of the Quaffle and sent it through one of the Slytherin goal's hoops. 

She paid dearly for it. She was hit by a Bludger when she successfully avoided being hit by the other one. But that didn't stop her from scoring again.

Harry turned his attention back on looking for the Snitch, systematically circling the pitch. One moment he thought he saw a golden glint but it was gone again after a second—because Malfoy had blocked him by slamming into him once more. It resulted in another penalty shot.

It went on like that for minutes on end. Every time Harry thought he saw the Snitch, Malfoy prevented him from going after it. 

Soon Gryffindor was eighty points in the lead. Then ninety. Then—.

"He slammed into Weasley, that pompous a—!"

"Hold it right there, Mr Cauldwell!" McGonagall admonished him.

"Sorry. As I was saying, Malfoy, that _ahem censored—_alright with you, Professor?—he slammed into Ginny Weasley, girlfriend of Harry P—."

"If you wouldn't mind to concentrate on the game?"

"Alright, alright. Professor. Just giving a bit of background information."

McGonagall sighed loudly. "I should never have let Jordan take you under his wings…"

"Bastard!" Harry hissed and flew towards Ginny who could hardly stay on her broomstick. "Gin? I'll call a time-out, alright?"

She shook her head. "No, no, I'll be fine in a moment. You go and catch the Snitch. They can still beat us if Malfoy catches it now."

Harry nodded. "Alright, but you'll see Madam Pomfrey straight after the game. You've taken enough Bludgers to last you a decade."

"Okay."

And Harry swerved away, eyes darting from left to right and up and down, frantically looking for the Snitch to catch it before Ginny would fall off her broom, hit by another Bludger.

The stands erupted in cheers when Ron made a spectacular save. Although Harry hadn't been watching him, he had a vivid image of it, painted in lively colours by Owen Cauldwell, who did a job that rivalled Lee Jordan's by now. He was getting the hang of it…

**~*~*~**

Sariss winced when Malfoy slammed into Harry Potter for the umpteenth time. It looked like it hurt and it didn't do Slytherin any good either. Gryffindor was awarded penalty shots constantly.

"Is it just me or was foul play done a _bit _more subtly when I was a student?"

"I must admit," Severus said, "Mr Malfoy is particularly aggressive today."

"No wonder Slytherin hasn't won against Gryffindor for—well, this year included—six… seven years, is it? Look at that. Potter is having the time of his life when on a broomstick, while Malfoy's goal is winning at all costs."

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

"It is when you, like him, want to win not only for the sake of winning itself, but for the sake of defeating your enemy. He wants to defeat Potter; he doesn't care about Quidditch. He doesn't enjoy it. To him it is a battle."

"Then he wants to win a battle. It's not that much different from a game, is it?"

"If your thoughts are clouded by other things that are on your mind. He's not concentrating on the game. Only on Potter," Sariss said. "He wants everything for himself, not for the team, not for his house. He only wants to beat Potter. Nothing else. That's why he's fouling him all the time. If he cannot beat him in the game itself, he wants to beat him physically—which he, aside from when they're on the pitch, can't do without being severely punished."

"So you think he's compensating? Maybe. But the thing is, by being close to him he's not giving Potter the chance to go after the Snitch without him, too, knowing where it is. He'll go after the Snitch as soon as Potter makes an attempt at reaching it. You should know his strategy by now."

"He'll smash headlong into the ground if he does that," Sariss said casually. "Potter's very good at performing the Wronski Feint. You should know _that_ by now…"

And as though the boy had heard her speak, he pulled of a—as even Severus had to admit—rather spectacular Wronski Feint—and as Sariss had just predicted, Malfoy tore after him and into the ground.

"Very well. I bow my head before the expert. You, that is."

She didn't answer. Wasn't she supposed to smile at him now? But she did neither smile nor speak.

Indeed, she didn't speak for several long minutes. She only stared at the game, but if she really followed it was an entirely different matter.

Once again, she seemed to be daydreaming—or rather day-nightmaring or day-remembering as it should be called, in her case.

"Love," he whispered. "Snap out of it. Don't let him drive you insane."

She had those—Severus was almost tempted to call them blackouts—she had those blackouts on a regular basis now. He'd wake up to find her neither in his arms nor next to him but instead standing at the window staring out—in that case, he'd lead her back to bed. She never even so much as resisted when he tucked her in. Then he'd wait for it to pass. And when it did, she'd smile up at him and ask why he looked so worried, if the Dark Mark had twitched or something.

On other occasions, she'd be sitting in an armchair at the fireplace staring into the flames, or having a book on her lap, open, so she looked as though she were reading—without ever turning a page for an hour or so, depending on how long it took her to return. Even Oberon—Severus had been introduced to him one morning when he'd woken him and Sariss up, suspiciously eyeing the Potions master. Sariss called the bird her winged guardian and insisted that he must never be spoken of as it—which Severus had been glad to hear. If she insisted that the bird wasn't her pet, but her friend, it should always be referred to as he. There was some unmistakable logic in it. 

Be that as it may, even Oberon had noticed that something was wrong. She hadn't even reacted when the bird had landed on her shoulder and nuzzled her hair with its beak. He'd croaked somewhat disappointedly and then settled on an empty topmost shelf, waiting. Waiting just like Severus had been waiting.

During those moments, she scared him to the bone. She looked so lifeless; she didn't answer when he spoke to her. Never. She'd never spoken a word.

The first time she'd had something remotely like those blackouts, had been when she had told him how she remembered the worst moments in her life. But back then, she had reacted when he'd spoken to her; she had wanted him to hold her, to make her 'feel alive', as she'd said. She had snapped out of the blackout after only a few moments.

Now that was different; they had an eerie resemblance to her dreams, those blackouts. It took her longer to come back every time she went into that state. But she didn't even remember them. Severus feared for her more than he could say. He'd come to actually fear for her sanity as she'd always feared for it herself. He forced himself to spend the time he had with her not in dread of the next blackout but enjoying her presence as much as possible. He didn't have the heart to show her how much he actually feared. He hid it well—or so he thought at least.

"The next time I meet him will be the last," she said, her voice soft and distant. "I'm going to try and kill him as soon as I'm given the opportunity to do so; and I don't care what happens to me."

"Sariss," Severus said, faintly surprised that she spoke at all and thus feeling obliged to answer, "he can't be killed that easily, you should know that. You saw him being vanquished once already and he came back again. Even you won't be strong enough."

"It took two rebounding curses to vanquish him for fourteen years. He even needed help to come back to life. I will see him again. I can smell it in the air, I can feel _him_ in my veins—."

Severus gently took her hand in his. It was totally limp and yielding. Although she wore short gloves that stopped right before her wrists—to hide the scar from curious eyes—the coldness of her skin seeped through the black satin when she had always been somewhat warmer during a Quidditch match. Covered in goose bumps was the patch of skin that was visible of her arm. He ran his fingertips over the visibly throbbing vein of her pulse. It was racing.

"But you fear him, Sariss. Even more than you let on."

"No," she said softly, looking not at him, but watching the game, although her mind was not in it.

"You do. Every time I have to shake you awake, I can see that fear."

"That's why I hate him." She was apparently much more conscious than ever before although she was clearly still far away. "He fills my nights with fear. I fill my days with hate for him."

"Love, if I learnt anything in my life, it's that hate leads to suffering."

"Yes, it does. Too true. To _his_," she snarled. The expression she wore convinced Severus that Voldemort should indeed fear her. As of yet, he hadn't taken the last steps of what had led to his latent immortality such a long time ago. He had a body. A magical, well-protected, but nonetheless _mortal_, body. He was powerful, but as of yet not as invincible as he had already been once. Could it be that Sariss already had a plan? Could it be that she was only waiting for the right moment to strike, the way Voldemort had done when he'd sent Lucius Malfoy and Armand Lestrange to capture her in Hogsmeade? Something about her told Severus that it must indeed be so. After all, if everything went as it was destined to be, it would only be a matter of time. Like father, like daughter—and Severus meant it in a good way.

"What are you intending to do about him?" Severus asked, hoping against hope that she'd answer. He knew she wouldn't. All her life, so many secrets had been kept from her, by so many people. Her mother, her father, Dumbledore, Severus… She deserved to have one of her own. This single secret he'd grant her.

"I'm going to kill him," she said as though she were alone, nodding hardly perceptibly, a fierce, determined expression on her face. "Not today. Not tomorrow. But I can wait. I can wait for another seventeen and a half years if necessary."

She had told him more than he would have expected. More than he would have liked to know. He felt sorry already for asking her that question, for using her talkativeness to his advantage—although he had been asking the very same questions, cleverly disguised as general enquiries about how she felt, for quite some time already. For a moment, he actually wondered why she'd never even come close to giving him something that could remotely be called an answer; moreover, why he'd never noticed that she hadn't answered.

Strange…

Yes, she was mad. But no more than anyone else who had gone through a certain amount of suffering, whose glass of suffering had been filled in abundance and overflowed.

It was her very own unique way of madness. The madness one would call obsession.

Sariss was obsessed. Severus had known it for a long time, although not consciously. It was part of her. 

She was obsessed with revenge. That, he had always known. And now she had even more reason for it to be so.

She was obsessed with death. She longed for peace and quiet, and to her, peace and quiet meant death—of which she was afraid despite her longing for it. But Severus didn't fear that, as long as she had her thirst for revenge. It kept her alive—along with the third thing she was obsessed with. 

Love. 

And Severus didn't mean the act of making love in itself. It was much more than just physical contact. It was beyond comparison, beyond description. It was as though she tried to squeeze more hours into the day than it actually had, as though she'd be running out of time any second, trying to compensate for the time they'd lost, or so it seemed. Every word, every look, every touch, even the smallest touch, seemed so important to her. She seemed to use every opportunity to at least brush his hand with hers. When she kissed him, it was passionate; when they made love, it was intense. In fact, it was that, when Severus had begun to think it couldn't get more intense, it did just that. Everything she did, she did with a passion, as though she wanted to force herself to live despite her yearning for peace and thus death. More every passing day. He could feel it. She lived with a vengeance.

Revenge, death, love. Was there any emotion that was as strong as those and the ones connected with them, their counterparts, forgiveness, life, hate? Three of them, she'd given to Severus. She'd forgiven him everything. She'd made his life worth living again. And she'd given him her love. Him, who of all people in the world might be the one to deserve it least—Tom Riddle excepted, of course.

The last one, _hate_, she reserved solely for her father, who deserved it like no one else. And hate, she did with a passion, too.

She passionately hated Voldemort. And that, too, she did with a vengeance.

_Yes, Tom Marvolo Riddle, fear your creation, when the traitor, Severus Snape, doesn't have the slightest reason to fear her—_

**Only a reason to fear _for_ her because of some of her obsessions… She's going mad, I'm telling you. _She_ told you! You heard it spoken out loud by her very voice numerous times!**

"I can wait—."

"POTTER'S GOT THE SNITCH!" Owen Cauldwell's magically amplified voice echoed through the stands, ringing in Severus's ears. 

And Sariss jumped slightly as if she had just woken from a deep sleep.

"What a catch! Did you see that? Score's 380 to 200! Gryffindor win the Quidditch Cup!"

"Damn," Severus muttered automatically.

_Lost again.___

**Who cares about a stupid game?**

_It's not stupid. But… Right. Who cares when there's so much more to life than that?_

"What? We lost?" Sariss asked, a bit confused.

"Gryffindor Captain Harry Potter steps forward to accept the Cup!" the Hufflepuff kid shouted. "Well done, Gryffindor! Great match there! Wouldn't let those Slytherins win if…"

"Yes," Severus replied as if she hadn't acted so weird. He'd speak to Dumbledore about her. Maybe he knew a solution; something, _anything_, that could keep her from living with her body right next to Severus while her mind was far away, remembering—and planning and plotting a murder that would never take place.

"How hard are you intending to take it?" A smile played around her lips. She knew very well that Severus hated losing, no matter what.

"Oh, I think I'm over it," he said, trying to sound casual and unaffected by everything he knew she'd told him whereas she clearly didn't. If only he could squeeze Voldemort out of her head… "After all, there's next year look forward to. Potter as well as Mr Malfoy will be graduating this year and then the deck will be shuffled to deal out new player cards."

"Cards? How come you compare that to a game of cards? Do I detect an infatuation with games in that hidden corner of your soul you reveal to nobody?"

"Games of any kind. But, as you should have realized, I'm not terribly fond of losing."

"Then we'll have to find something to make you feel like a winner again," she said suggestively.

**~*~*~**

Ron slammed shut _Hideously Advanced Charms and Spells_. "I'll never learn how to do a proper Colour-changing Charm on a whole room. I don't even grasp the theory. You saw me try in Charms lessons. This is so useless."

"Ron, people are paid to perform them," Hermione said. "You'll save a lot of money if you know how to do them on your own—not to mention that it'll help you pass the N.E.W.Ts."

He groaned in reply and said, "Flitwick'll probably not even mention them when he's testing us."

"I'll show you how to do one," Harry offered, "if you show me a way to remember roundabout five hundred goblin rebellions without mixing up their leaders." 

"Okay, deal. Let's do that later. And that Micro-waving Charm Flitwick mentioned last lesson is simply beyond me."

"You should have taken Muggle Studies. It's amazing how that charm is worked into Muggle microwaves so they won't notice that it's magic."

For days on end, they had been sitting in the library every single free second they could find, poring over books about spells, Charms, curses, History, Divination—well, not really, DADA, Transfiguration… And for hours, Harry had been trying to memorize the goblin rebellions. Binns had all but told them that those would be the main part of the N.E.W.Ts. Not for the first time Harry wondered why Binns concentrated on those—in Harry's opinion—minor matters of history, when he could teach them about the Founders or Grindelwald—in essence: something interesting. The man—or ghost—should have noticed that he'd have much more attention if he did that. Harry clearly remembered him not quite eagerly telling them about the Chamber of Secrets in their second year. _That_ had been an interesting lesson—although, according to Binns himself, he didn't believe in such myths.

"Have you seen that water-to-wine-essay somewhere?"

"You mean _How to turn Rainwater into Brandy that can be drunk without going blind after having drunk three gobletfuls_?" 

"Yes, exactly."

Hermione rummaged around on the table, lifting and shifting some of the books and then pulling said essay out of the heap. "There it is."

"Thanks." Ron sighed and began to read the essay once more. For quite some time they worked quietly, the silence only disrupted by the scratching noise of furiously scribbling quills on parchment and the faint rustle when a page was turned.

"I fear my head's going to explode soon enough," Ron said, burying his face in his hands and massaging his temples. Harry, too, had been doing this quite often during the last days or weeks or however long it was that they had agreed on revising for the N.E.W.Ts on a daily, scheduled, basis.

"Good for you. Then you won't have to take the exams," Hermione muttered, not even looking up from her Arithmancy book and parchment on which she added a few notes to the ones she already had. It seemed that as soon as she'd written it down she had memorized it. Harry found himself envying her with all his heart. She made everything seem so easy. But the good thing was that she was also good at explaining it to others so they'd understand it fairly quickly.

Of course, Ron and Harry had joked about Hermione knowing _Hogwarts: A History_ by heart. She could quote it forwards and backwards. But she also knew the books on Potions and DADA by heart, and who could tell which ones she also knew. But the thing that annoyed Harry and Ron as well mostly, was that she knew every single charm and spell that was in _Hideously Advanced Charms and Spells_, the very book that really lived up to its title. It wasn't just a mere book. It was a compendium, weighing approximately three tons, that was used in Charms as well as in Transfiguration, combining those two subjects into a mixture that was not to be easily swallowed, so to speak. 

Ron had nightmares in which dozens of those books rained down on him. Harry could understand him very well. Recently he had dates and names of goblins and their respective rebellions swirling around him every time he closed his eyes—although it was a considerate relief that those dreams had nothing to do with a pair of red eyes and a hissing voice.

"The library is closing," said Madam Pince, "in a few minutes. I understand that you're very busy but, well…"

"Is it already that late?" Hermione asked, stunned.

"You've missed dinner," the librarian pointed out. "I've got to admire your diligence. If you keep this up there's no way for you to fail—unless, of course, you fall asleep over your exams."

The three gathered up their books and parchments and stuffed them into their bags.

"I haven't spoken five words to Ginny today," Harry muttered. "And yesterday and the day before, it hasn't been much more. I'll have to make up for it as soon as the exams are over."

"I daresay, otherwise you'll suffer the Weasley temper," Ron grinned. "Ginny has more of it than is good for her."

"Only a month and then it'll be over. I swear I'll never touch another book after that."

**~*~*~**

"That's all for today," Professor Ravon said, "and also for the year. Well, almost. Your exams lie before you. They will consist of two parts. The first part will be a written test. It will take you one and a half hours. And after that, I expect to see you equally well prepared for the practical part. I will set up a timetable. Each one of you will be tested for about fifteen minutes. I intend to see you separately. As that would take a very long time, I asked Professor McGonagall to assist me. The Gryffindors among you will be tested by me. Professor McGonagall will test the Slytherins. That way we make sure that no one could be accused of favouritism." 

Malfoy snorted softly. Wisely, he had chosen to sit in the back row as soon as the time of his suspension had passed. Professor Ravon had ignored his presence completely during the last month. 

She looked pale—paler than she generally looked. It seemed that every day that had passed she had become a shade paler, making her eyes shine even greener than usual. A slight trembling was constantly present in her hands when she wrote something on the blackboard. But she didn't seem ill or something. Maybe she was just tired. The way she sometimes massaged the bridge of her nose indicated that this might just be true.

But she was smiling faintly and the way she'd taught the lessons recently indicated clearly that she was feeling quite all right.

"And don't be scared. The N.E.W.Ts may live up to their title, but they won't kill you—and I won't bite. See you again on Friday next week right after your Potions exams. I feel almost sorry for you," she said, not looking it in the slightest. "But then again, it's only Potions, is it?"

Only Potions? She must be kidding. Well, of course she was. However, once they'd come that far, the exams would be almost finished. That, at least, was something to look forward to—and that Harry could then spend some time with Ginny again, who had also been very busy with preparing for her exams. Harry remembered his sixth year exams. In retrospect, they looked fairly easy—although back then Harry had constantly felt as though he'd eaten something very wriggly for breakfast as well as lunch and dinner—just like it had always been before something big was coming up. It was hardly credible that an entire year had passed since then. And now he'd be taking his exams and then leave Hogwarts forever…

Fortunately, Harry had, with some help by Ron, managed to memorize the goblin rebellions, and Ron in turn could now turn everything blue, pink, green—any colour—much more effortlessly than ever before. Those had been the biggest problems. Transfiguration and Potions had been rather easy to practice. Hermione had been of great help. For Transfiguration, the most important thing was always to use your imagination when you did a spell. If you got the spell right and concentrated hard on what you wanted to make of your object, it worked much better if you had a picture of it in your mind. To do that, Professor Ravon's wandless magic lessons had been very useful. Harry had learnt to shut out everything and only concentrate on what he was doing in those lessons. 

And Potions—comparatively enjoyable as it had become—didn't worry Harry as much as it had done the last years.

What he was most confident of, however, was DADA. Somehow, he had the feeling that above all that subject had imprinted itself into his brain firmly and irreversibly. Thanks to her revision lessons, Harry had hardly needed to read his notes for a second time to be able to reproduce roundabout everything he had ever written down during her lessons. And it wasn't only so with him. Many others, too, had that impression. It must have been the wandless magic lessons. Professor Ravon had always been telling them that if only they'd keep in mind to concentrate properly on what they were doing and wanted to happen, everything would come to them. That philosophy worked. And if she wanted to test their Duelling skills, Harry was ready. He had practised those hexes and jinxes with Ron when their brains dreaded to explode. Sometimes Hermione, too, had joined them. And on rare occasions, even Ginny had duelled with Harry (mostly, when Ron and Hermione had sneaked off to do some other kind of _duelling_…). Well, actually, they'd first practiced duelling curses and then… then, they'd followed Ron and Hermione's (supposed) example.

To make a long story short, Harry felt well prepared. He knew that he knew more than ever before. His brain was filled with knowledge. He could hardly wait to empty it on his exam parchments. _Only a week_, he kept repeating to himself. In a week, everything will be over and everyone will be relieved, happy and celebrating.

The exams would start on Monday the following week. Their first test would be Care of Magical Creatures. A nice start-up as Hagrid had all but told them what they had to do. He, too, had scheduled a written and a practical part—although the practical part would most likely be only a bit of talking about dangerous animals and exchanging some encouraging words concerning the following exams.

**Next chapter:**

Dumbledore speaks to Sariss upon Severus's request, Sariss thinks she's going insane, the students take their exams, Harry and Sariss have a little chat, our favourite couple exchanges some kisses. And Malfoy—now that would be spoiling.


	31. The Dark Side

**Author's note: **Thanks go to milee, DittoGirl, Miriam and Hatusu.

Chapter 30: The Dark Side

**_Sweet boy, come in  
I am the dark side of you  
Die for my sins_**

**_Oh, bare grace misery  
Just a child without a fairytale am I  
Dark but so lovely_******

_—Nightwish: Bare Grace Misery_

"My dear," Dumbledore approached Sariss, took her hand and led her to an armchair, "you look pale."

"I assure you, I'm fine," she said, sitting down.

Dumbledore too sat down. "You also look tired. Severus tells me you don't sleep very much."

"That's quite right."

"Sariss… He's… well… he's very concerned about you."

"So I've been told—several times to be exact, although not in as many words."

"You're working very much."

"Yes."

"What are you doing?"

"I know what I'm doing." She squirmed visibly.

"Do you?"

"Yes."

"What are you _doing_?" he asked again putting more emphasis into his question.

"Getting ready," she said determinedly, but a faintly frightened look had begun to creep over her face. It was hardly noticeable. But Dumbledore knew her too well.

"For what?"

"For what's coming to me."

"What is it that you think is coming to you?" Dumbledore was curious. He knew very well that she'd never believed in Divination or the like. She'd never trusted her feelings either. Everything she did with logic—or she _had_ done so.

"I'm not quite certain. I only know that something's coming; I've known it all year long. The feeling was very elusive at first but then I began to listen to it; it has grown more and more distinct during the last weeks. Something's coming. I can hear it whispering in the air all around me; I can feel it in my blood, in every heartbeat," she whispered. "I'm getting ready."

"How?"

"I'm preparing myself. That's all you—and Severus—need to know. He's faintly suspecting something, too. Somehow, he knows I intend to kill Voldemort, although I do not know when that will be. However, I know how. But I'm not going to let him nor you in. After all, this feeling that something's going to happen very soon… it might be only imaginations of my feverish, close-to-going-mad, mind." Her voice was slightly shaking when she said, "And mad, that might just be what I am. Psychotic and schizophrenic." She gave a small false laugh. "Maybe you should drug me and put me into St. Mungo's."

"I'm worried, Sariss. I'm worried about what you might do," Dumbledore said. "Don't go after him. Don't try to search and destroy as soon as you have the time on your hands."

"I will do what I must. But I promise not to go looking for him, alright? I'll wait for him to come to me and if I have to wait for another seventeen years. I will not leave here. This is my home." This, she said very firmly. "This is where I want to be. With you and Severus. You've become my family. I'm glad that you asked me to come back here, no matter what your motives might have been at first."

"Sariss, my child, you know that I love you, don't you?" Dumbledore pulled her into a fatherly hug. She looked like she could use many hugs, lately, although Dumbledore knew fairly well that she got quite a lot too. But of some things, you couldn't have enough. Among those things were smiles, hugs and comforting words.

"I know. And it still amazes me how much you care about me; how so many people all of a sudden seem to care and notice the smallest things about me."

"I've always known you were important, even before you stood in my office, grown-up and mentally scarred by what life would have in store for the little girl celebrating her first Hogwarts Hallowe'en."

"All my life I've been drawing my strength from you, you know. I always wanted you to be proud of me. I never wanted to disappoint you. I still don't," she murmured into his shoulder.

"You never disappointed me. You did well. You made small mistakes like everyone else, but none that couldn't be repaired. You never disappointed me."

"One day you might feel disappointed…" She drew back.

"Even then, I'm sure you'll have your reasons. You make your choices on your own, may they prove right or wrong. After all, it's all a matter of opinion."

"I understand. Excuse me. I promised Hagrid I'd see him." She stood up to leave. When she had reached the door, Dumbledore spoke once more.

"Sariss, I know what you're waiting for. I know what you intend to do. It's all too clear to me even though Severus seems not to want to think that far—or maybe you use your powers to not let him come to the conclusions I've come to draw, I don't know that. I know what you want to do."

"Then why were you pretending you didn't?"

"I wanted to know if you trust me," he challenged her.

"I trust you. If not you then no one else. I didn't want to worry you," she said in a small voice, her back turned to him. 

"Should I have kept the prophecy from you?"

"No. It is a good thing that you gave it to me. It encourages me when I falter."

"Now that it's come that far, now that you decided to take your life in your own hands and perhaps lose it in the process, I don't want you to fulfil what's your destiny. I've finally come to understand…" he muttered. "You might not remember the hand-reading we had Phytia Relyaion do when you were a child."

"I remember." She turned back to him. "Now that you mention it, I remember. But I never really understood what she meant. The hand-reading isn't important to me. It never was."

"What if I asked you to forsake your revenge on him? What if I told you to forget about the prophecy and let someone else take your place and fulfil it?"

"You know that's not possible." She shook her head. "I know it, too."

"Sariss, I'll never forgive myself."

"It's not your fault. It's not your choice. It was his choice. He made it on 5th September 1980. He made it when he killed my mother. He made it when he fed me the potion. He made it when he cast the spell. He made it when he tortured me." Her voice was rising with every sentence she spoke and then dropped to a whisper, full of hate and resolve. "He made it when he stopped torturing me to let me die and commanded Severus to rape and kill me. It was his choice and his _alone_. Not mine. But now I'll make a choice as soon the opportunity presents itself. Severus taught me something about opportunities, although he doesn't know that. He mustn't."

"Sariss, please—."

"You will not stop me." Her voice sounded so calm. "No one will. I'm a ghost of myself. Unfinished. I never became what he wanted me to become. The transformation was not finished—."

"Has he said this to you?"

"Yes."

"When?"

"When he created me."

"You never told me that."

"Really? I must have forgotten." She looked stunned. "I must have forgotten," she repeated, clutching her head. "It must be the dreams. I seem to remember every detail now. The minor details as well as the more significant ones. It seems I could build a perfect replica of the scene. I could quote every single word that had been spoken back then, every breath someone took. Everything." Her eyes flowed over, although the rest of her body seemingly refused to give in to crying. "Would it have made a difference if I had remembered that small fact earlier?" she asked softly. There was despair in her voice. If Dumbledore replied 'yes', she'd break down. "Could it have been reversed if this stupid unreliable brain of mine had remembered?"

Fact was that he had no idea. But Dumbledore was nonetheless shaken once again. Sometimes he had the feeling that no one could do that to him better than she—and that when she so obviously never wanted to. "I don't know, child, I don't know," he said truthfully. "What if I asked you to forget what your father—"

"He was never my father!" she whispered hoarsely.

"What if I asked you to banish him from your mind, to let us deal with him?"

"That wouldn't matter. Stop pressuring me. You should be glad that someone's willing to attempt the unthinkable." She was visibly trying to sound angry, although she clearly was only sad that she was causing him pain. It was quite obvious that she had never wanted to lose a single word about all of this. "I wanted to kill him all my life. When I was hardly five feet tall, I was already imagining the feel of his blood on my hands. I've always yearned for that. And now that I know how to carry out my revenge on him, I will know the feel of his blood when it seeps out of his body as it seeped out of mine."

She wanted to shock him by that revelation. It was clear to him. And she did—almost. If it weren't so understandable for her to harbour those thoughts, Dumbledore would have been more than shocked.

"Sariss. Child—," he began.

She interrupted him briskly, looking at him imploringly, a feverish but terribly sad gleam in her large green eyes. She was close to being frantic. "Don't ever tell Severus about anything I told you today. Not a single one of those words should have passed over my lips. They should never have been uttered. Promise me. Promise me not to tell him that you heard it from me. Lie to him. Tell him you had a faint idea, should he ever ask you—and he will as soon as I—as soon as I'm not here to distract him any longer. He must never know. You have no idea how I feel when I keep him from asking me directly, how my blood turns to ice when he only asks me what I've been doing all day. I'm lying to him, Professor Dumbledore, although not in words, but by not letting him finish his questions, by not even letting him start. I'm lying. I'm lying to him because I love him too much to let him only think about those things. They only lead to pain for both of us. I'm lying," she repeated. "And you know how—."

"Yes. I know how much you despise lies."

She nodded. "And I'm more sorry than I can say. It looks like there's more of a Slytherin in me than the Sorting Hat and myself ever thought."

"Sariss…" Dumbledore sighed. "You might be living that lie for a very long time."

Again, she nodded. "I don't know how long it'll take for the opportunity to come, but the longer it takes, the more I feel I'll falter in my resolve. Every time I look at Severus, every time he looks at me the way only he does, I falter. I don't want to falter. Sometimes I feel the longer it takes, the less persuading I'll need to run and hide from Voldemort. I'm torn in two, you know that?"

"I've noticed. On the one hand, you want Voldemort. On the other hand, you want Severus. I know as well as you do that the day will come for you to choose between them," Dumbledore said. "I fear I know whom and what you'll choose."

"You might be right."

"Sariss, are you aware that with Voldemort dead you'd be the last descendant of Salazar Slytherin?"

"Yes."

"Are you also aware of the fact that you're the last living descendant of Rowena Ravenclaw?"

"So that's why he chose my mother to bear his child? To unite two houses against the others?"

Dumbledore didn't answer.

"He wanted to unite the power of two of the Founders in his child," she whispered. "The Founders. They should have killed Slytherin when they had the chance…"

"So you realize that if you sacrifice yourself to the cause of ridding this world of Voldemort by your rules, you'll take with you the last living drop of blood that Rowena and Salazar have left as their legacy?"

"That only proves that I shouldn't exist. Everyone knows that Rowena loved Godric. She didn't love Slytherin. My mother apparently did."

"What difference does it make? You, too, love a Slytherin. When deep down in your heart you are a Ravenclaw, you not only chose to _be_ a Slytherin, you chose to be _with_ a Slytherin and love him desperately. And don't give me that look. It's so obviously written in your face, in your very eyes, that there's no denying."

"But that doesn't change my decision. It is carved in stone already. For all eternity if I have to wait that long," she said hoarsely, staring right through Dumbledore, staring into nothingness as she so often did.

"And Severus?" Dumbledore asked softly.

Her eyes focused on him.

"There are some things even love can't change."

**~*~*~**

Care of Magical Creatures had been rather easy. The written exam as well as the practical one had been exactly what Harry had expected. The whole thing had gone quite relaxed and hadn't been too demanding—although it had been a much more serious matter than Harry was used to. After all this was Hagrid. And in his standards, it had been a hard test—although not in everyone else's. Someone must have given him a hand. Harry was fairly sure about that.

After a quite relaxed lunch, Ron and Harry went to North Tower to take their Divination exams. They both knew they'd passed it when they met afterwards and spoke about it. They simply had to make the most horrid predictions they could think of—but not too realistic, since Professor Trelawney seemed not to like predictions that could come true. The more absurd and bizarre they were (at least to Harry), the better for her (and Harry's grades).

Harry wasn't quite sure if the show he'd put on had been satisfying, but he didn't actually care. It was Divination! Divination! The weirdest and roundabout most useless subject he'd ever started. But it was by far easier than Hermione's Arithmancy exam. That is, for Hermione it was challenging but not too difficult.

The remaining time of the day, all of them spent revising their Transfiguration notes, since it was their first exam the following day. 

Harry and Ginny had once again only spoken a few words that day at dinner because the two of them were quite anxious concerning the following day. Ginny had her Transfiguration test in the afternoon. And roundabout everyone was worried about the following day. They went to bed early, after having stuffed their heads with the last bits of information that would fit into their brains without making them explode.

McGonagall had them turn snails into snakes. Snakes! Whatever had given her the idea to do that? It wasn't only most difficult to perform inter-species switches—and keep the poor animal alive and kicking (or in that case slithering)—it was also a not very pleasant thing because especially the girls found it a horrid idea to have snakes slither around the room, as if snails hadn't been enough. 

They had no idea how hard it was for Harry since, as soon as his snail had lost its shell and developed bones and skin, in essence: only begun to look remotely like a snake, it kept giving him instructions about how it wanted to be just slightly longer and, above all, thinner ('_There are no fat sssnakesss!_'), and would like to have a bluish-green tinge to its scales and not a greenish-blue one. It even told him _how_ to do it! (_If anyone else here knew how much a snail can learn by skulking around the grounds and listening to students…_ Harry thought.) Indeed, all the snakes in the room were hissing similar things to their masters who (un)fortunately couldn't understand. The hissing was so unnerving that Harry mixed up two spells and had one hell of a time to make their effects undone again. When McGonagall said that their time was up ("Please finish your current spells and then put away your wands and sit back so I may have a look at the results. I demand silence."), Harry had just started to put the finishing touch on his talkative companion. Nice long eyeteeth. It hissed its approval and Harry—who had all the time wanted nothing more than to tell it to shut the hell up—hissed a very soft 'Thanksss,' as most people were scared by the sound of Parseltongue.

"Apparently you were one of the few who didn't mind the task I set you. Not afraid of snakes, are you? Did you have a nice conversation with your project, Mr Potter?" McGonagall asked when she carefully examined the snake, turning it this way and that and nodding approvingly. 

'_Hey! That ticklesss!'_

"I'd call it a monologue," Harry said, but couldn't help smiling. "It seems I've created a particularly ticklish specimen I'm afraid."

"Ticklish?"

'_Very ticklisssh._'

"It just said so."

A smile tugged at the corners of McGonagall's mouth. "A ticklish snake… Hmm. The scales have a nice texture I must say…" She took a few notes after having run her fingertips over the snake's skin.

'_That'sss__ nice…_' the snake hissed dreamily.

Harry snorted.

"What is it, Mr Potter?" McGonagall raised her eyebrows.

"Um, nothing. It just seems to like that."

"Then you may want to sell it to the Magical Menagerie as a pet snake instead of having it changed back?"

"I'd pity whoever would buy that terribly vain thing," Harry muttered, and McGonagall moved on, telling him to put it in one of the cages that were sitting in a corner. She'd change the animals back later—or not.

After wolfing down some lunch and listening to the chatter of his fellow students about how the snake was still too slimy or its skin still resembling a shell and something like that, they walked to the greenhouses in utter silence. It seemed that everyone was going over his or her notes in their minds. Harry too. And it was a good thing, since Professor Sprout had them tend to a series of plants and taking notes on what was to be paid heed to when, for example, the Venomous Tentacula was in a vindictive mood and thus kept snapping at you, or how to determine if the mushroom they had been given would make them smaller or bigger if they ate it. Of course, they didn't have to eat it. They just had to do an exact analysis of it and come to the exact conclusion.

On Wednesday, it was History of Magic and surprise, surprise! The goblin rebellions were on! Harry had never scribbled so furiously—although at one point he was sure he had mixed up a few dates. But no matter how he strained his brain, it wouldn't provide any other dates. So he simply left it that way and continued with what he knew, always thinking about the fact that—after this test—half of the horror would be over, and that this very afternoon, neither he nor Ron nor Ginny had any tests—until midnight when they'd be taking Astronomy—and could perhaps steal an hour or two to have some fun or at least talk to each other once again—about anything _but_ the exams. Harry really had to calm down at the prospect of Astronomy. That was the most difficult subject for him. How could you remember the names of all those stars at all?

Be that as it may, meanwhile, Hermione would be taking Ancient Runes. She was much more busy than everyone else, since the day after that, those who had Muggle Studies were taking their N.E.W.Ts whereas the large rest of the students could sleep in or revise a bit. 

Unfortunately, Ginny had also chosen Muggle Studies in her third year and had to retire a bit earlier than Harry found strictly necessary, since it was very nice to revise for the Charms exam when every time he looked up he could see Ginny poring over her notes, and as soon as she noticed that he was watching she'd smile at him or blow him a kiss. As there weren't very many students in Muggle Studies, they were to take their tests together. The sixth and seventh years would be first. The fourth and fifth years in the afternoon, when the seventh years would meanwhile be taking their Charms N.E.W.Ts.

Professor Flitwick had them do several spells ranging from rather basic ones to really advanced ones, such as determining where a Portkey they had been given at random would take them if they touched it. That one consisted of so many spells that Harry mixed up two of them and even forgot one.

Then came Friday, the last day, the day after which Harry had vowed to never even touch a book again, never so much as look at a library again. In the morning, it would be Potions and in the afternoon DADA. 

Snape had them do a Photograph Developing Potion, but not the simple one that was used for black-and-white photographs. No, he had them brew the advanced version, where they had to add a series of additional ingredients to the gently simmering liquid so the Potion would create perfectly lifelike photographs. It was a terrible recipe. Simply too many different ingredients were necessary. Harry strained his tortured brain and hoped that it provided him with the right information. Apparently, he had done something good, since after a soft puffing noise the liquid was perfectly clear, save for a slight violet tinge that was however only visible when he carefully poured a few drops of it on a plate. 

Suddenly Harry could breathe properly again. He hadn't even realized he had been holding his breath for long intervals.

He glanced at his watch. There were still ten minutes to go. He had made it perfectly in time. 

Even Snape couldn't find anything wrong with his potion now, could he? Then Harry reminded himself that this wasn't Loathing-famous-Harry-Potter-with-a-passion-Snape anymore and finally allowed himself a small smile.

**You just passed your Potions exam, partner! With flying colours, I think.**

_Not quite yet._

Now what to do with a finished Photo Potion? Ah, yes! He remembered. It didn't need any special treatment as soon as it was finished and could be allowed to cool down. Thus, Harry could extinguish the fire that was still flickering merrily below the cauldron. He did so and then quietly put his remaining ingredients back into his Potion-making kit.

All the time, Snape had been creeping around the classroom, peering into cauldrons, watching somebody skin and cut Shrivelfigs and powder beetles, and always with his notebook in his left hand and a quill in his right, taking notes on how they progressed. 

When the bell rang, he told them to stop whatever it was that they were doing and to put out the fires. "Then you may leave."

"One hell of a potion," Ron said when they had left the dungeon. "If I hadn't had Hermione sitting at a perfect angle to watch what she was doing, I wouldn't have made it. Snape didn't even seem to notice when I glanced over."

"Ron! That's cheating!" Hermione whispered. "It's not fair."

"Why not? I watched what you were doing and Neville watched what I did. After all, I didn't need that much help from you. I wasn't quite sure when to add the Shrivelfigs and how many but you helped me greatly there. Thank you, 'Mione, you're the best."

That was something to which even Hermione couldn't object. "Alright, if you didn't need too much illegal advice…"

"Hey! Not everyone is as perfect as you and the famous Harry Potter here," Ron slapped Harry on the shoulder. "I threw a glance at your potion. It looked marvellous. How'd you manage that?"

"I hate to rid you so violently of the illusions you might have concerning me, but I too had to guess at a point or two," Harry said sheepishly. "By the way, Hermione, it was a good guess of yours that Snape would choose a potion from the end of the book—."

"Thanks so much, Ron." Neville caught up with them. "It was awful. That potion must have been on the last page of the book. I'd hardly got so far if I hadn't—."

"Second to last page," Lavender said. "I think I added too much fluxweed… Well, can't be helped now anyway."

"We had hardly ninety minutes for it," Seamus complained loudly.

Immediately after Potions, they hurriedly made their way to the DADA classroom.

Harry was rather looking forward to the DADA exam. The last exam. The last lesson at Hogwarts he'd be attending. It was almost a bit sad, now that he thought about it. At Hogwarts, he'd spent the happiest moments of his life despite Voldemort's lurking somewhere in a dark cave and plotting.

Professor Ravon had already pushed the desks apart and labelled them. As soon as everyone had sat down where they were supposed to be—Harry noticed that the arrangement had been made quite cleverly; there was always a Slytherin next to a Gryffindor and vice versa (no Gryffindor would ever let a Slytherin copy their notes, and no Slytherin would ever let a Gryffindor copy either)—she handed out the parchments.

She, as almost every other teacher, covered a wide range of subjects. The questions ranged from Avada Kedavra to Vampires and Werewolves. Knowledge about both theory and practical matters she required of them…

"Time's up," she said finally. "If you'd be so kind as to place your parchments on my desk when you leave? Then you can pick up a copy of the schedule I've made." She indicated another stack of parchment. "I want you to enjoy your lunch now and not to think about what your practical test might be. Relax. There's nothing for you to fear. After you've done that, I expect to see you separately, as scheduled. You might have to wait for a few minutes if the practical test should take longer than expected. But I don't think that will be a problem. The same things apply to those of you who'll go see Professor McGonagall. You're dismissed for now."

Harry's practical test was scheduled for half past three. Thus, he had plenty of time. Ron, however, was to be first. Harry wondered if that was for a reason. His face very white, freckles clearly distinguishable, he went up the marble staircase as though he were being led to the gallows. 

Harry and Ginny headed for Gryffindor Tower. As Hermione was scheduled to see Professor Ravon after Lavender who had followed Ron after a few minutes, she decided not to join them. Harry had hardly ever seen her so nervous.

A little while later, the portrait hole opened and Ron scrambled through, looking very relieved.

"How was it?" Harry asked. And immediately, all other present seventh-years joined in. But they were severely disappointed, since Ron replied, "Sorry. We're not allowed to tell. She said she'd sense it if anyone spilt the beans. She said, Gryffindors feel guilty very easily and she'd sense it."

That thought terrified some of his housemates, although Harry didn't know why at first. Then it came to him that perhaps, most of them didn't really know which powers Professor Ravon possessed.

But soon Lavender and Hermione, too, came back, smiling and not willing to lose a single word about what had happened behind closed doors. When it was three fifteen, Harry finally headed for the DADA classroom himself. Except for himself, only Dean and Parvati were left.

Harry tried to empty his mind of all thoughts that didn't belong there at the moment. And then he waited, for—he scanned the parchment—Neville to come out. He waited and waited. The watch was reading ten to four when the door finally opened and a very much relieved-looking Neville was being ushered out by a smiling Professor Ravon. Neville's face broke into a huge smile. He gave Harry the thumbs-up and then broke into a run towards Gryffindor Tower.

"Please, come in, Mr Potter," she said. "I'm sorry you had to wait so long. But finally, it's your turn. Take a seat."

Harry sat down in the chair she'd indicated, while she sat down on the opposite side of her desk.

"So…" Harry began.

"Yes?" She fixed her large green eyes on his.

"What… What would you have me do?" he asked, struggling not to squirm under her gaze or simply blurt out something along the lines of, 'Say, are you wearing green contact-lenses?'

"For a start, I'd like you to… yes, I'd like you to Summon that book over there." She pointed towards a copy of _Hideously Advanced Charms and Spells._ That book seemed to be stalking Harry that year. 

"Wandlessly," she added, as if Harry hadn't understood that that was what she meant. 

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, reaching out with his right hand. He suddenly felt like Luke Skywalker. He could almost hear Alec Guinness's voice say, "Use the force, Luke—I mean, Harry."

Harry tried to concentrate on the book, on how it would soar towards him. He pictured it. But it didn't seem to work. It had worked during the lessons, sometimes almost too effortlessly. Why didn't it work now? Harry was growing desperate. All the time he had this picture of that pair of green eyes that was boring into him before his eyes.

"Mr Potter?" he heard her voice and opened his eyes again. "Is something wrong?"

"I… No, I'm fine. It just doesn't work," he said helplessly.

"Don't give me that," she said briskly. "If you'd concentrate the way you always have during the lessons you'd have a stack of objects in your lap by now. What's on your mind? Tell me. Nothing that is spoken in this room will leave it, no matter how embarrassing. After all, we're both grown ups, aren't we? Come on," she prompted once more. "Once it's out of your mouth, it'll be out of your mind."

"Um…" Harry struggled to find words that wouldn't make him sound childish. "What's… I noticed that, well… The others don't seem to have noticed that but… What happened to your eyes? They're much greener than they were when you came here—Sorry. I'm probably just being paranoid—."

"No, no, no. It's alright, really. You're not the first one who had to get a more personal question out of his or her mind first—although not that one; yours is quite original—and your question was by far not the most embarrassing," she said dryly, "for neither one of us. But as I said, no word of you or me will leave this room. I won't tell anybody your question; you won't tell anybody my answer. At least not directly. I know how hard it is for teenagers to keep secrets. I guess you'd like an answer now, don't you?"

"Well…"

"I went on a mission for Dumbledore. It was unpleasant business, extremely dangerous and very, _very_, secret. I was hurt while I was at it—though not severely. The result is what you see. One of the souvenirs I was given," she explained. "Am I looking so scary with them to you?"

"Erm… no," Harry said quickly. "This may sound really stupid now, or maybe it's just my personal impression, but somehow they look _right_ on you." He had no idea how she managed to get him to voice his thoughts—but the air was alive with magic again. He could feel it again.

She smiled. All of a sudden, she reminded him very much of Dumbledore.

"I don't like repeating myself," she continued, more serious again, "but I'd really like you to Summon me that book now."

"I'll try."

"Don't _try_. Do it." Was it just Harry's impression or was it the perfect Yoda/Luke dialogue?

He concentrated again and the sensation that his mind was floating around the room returned. Harry opened his eyes and smiled as he saw the tome tremble, and pictured it rising into the air and soaring towards him. It almost slammed into his chest.

"Perfect!" Professor Ravon exclaimed. "Any spell you'd like to show off with? The Patronus perhaps?"

"You've already seen me do that one."

"Right. Anything else? A favourite or one just for fun?"

Harry thought for a moment.

"Could you lend me a piece of parchment and a quill?"

"Of course," she rummaged around in a drawer of her desk. "There you are."

He took them, dipped the quill into the ink that she'd provided and wrote 'My name is Harry Potter'. Then he concentrated and slowly waved his hand over the parchment. The writing disappeared. After a few moments, he moved his hand in the other direction and the writing came back.

Professor Ravon nodded and smiled. "Mr Weasley showed the same trick. I think I should have kept a closer eye on your parchments when you wrote the exams." 

"We didn't cheat," Harry felt obliged to say.

"I'd know if you had," she answered. "Guilty conscience. Nothing's easier to detect than that."

"Oh. Right. I forgot." Harry chanced a look at his watch. This had only taken ten minutes! It had felt much longer than that.

"Very well done, Mr Potter. You've passed your test."

"What? That was all?" Harry asked.

"I've got to catch up on time a bit. Or would you like to shower yourself in some more objects? You're welcome to do that, although it won't change your result."

Harry shook his head, smiling.

"And as I've told everyone before you: No giving away of what this is all about. I'd sense it and I'd find the culprit—not that a Gryffindor would ever break a promise."

"I promise," Harry said. "Professor?" he began. Now was the time to ask her something else. If not now then never. But how was he supposed to put it in words? "Erm… I've been… Did you have any nightmares this year?"

She froze. "Why do you ask?"

"Because you were in three of mine. And two of them were very real. They were happening as I dreamt them. The one my relatives were killed in…"

"My condolences, Mr Potter, I—."

"You were with me. You were the only person in the whole world whom I knew, whom I could touch, the only person who could hear me. Do you remember it?"

Her smile had disappeared quite some time ago.

"Yes," she said. She sounded somewhat stunned. "Yes, I do remember. And I thank you for waking me up. I wasn't sure if you were real or that you remembered those dreams, too." 

"One of them is very faint. But I don't think it was important anyway. Well, not anymore," he said. "I'm sorry, Professor, I know it's not something I should be—."

"It's okay. It's good to know that some things that seem to be real are indeed real."

Harry managed a small smile. The Professor returned it for a moment.

Then, back to business, she ushered him out the same way she'd done with Neville.

Dean and Parvati were already waiting.

"Mr Thomas? Come in. I'm sorry you had to wait. It won't take long, Miss Patil, I promise I'll hurry up a bit." The door closed with a click.

"What was it like?" Parvati asked. "No one's saying a word."

"Neither am I, Parvati," Harry said. "But it's alright. She won't rip your head off, either. Don't be nervous. Good luck."

"Thanks," she said in a small voice, and Harry returned to Gryffindor Tower, asking himself what that mission could have been that Dumbledore had sent her on so shortly after she'd been kidnapped by Voldemort.

**~*~*~**

"Exams are over!" Sariss shouted as soon as she'd closed the door to Severus's rooms, and threw herself into his arms. It was as if she were one of the students and not their teacher. "Finally."

"Took you long enough. What were you putting your _poor_ Gryffindors and Slytherins through?"

"Well, I admit, the test on wandless magic took longer than I expected, but I didn't want to rush the Gryffindors. After all, it's a matter of concentration."

"And the Slytherins?"

"I asked Professor McGonagall to do a bit of Duelling with them. She'll give me their grades."

"Why that difference?"

"I couldn't very well have McGonagall do wandless magic. That's _my_ speciality. Thus, I couldn't duel," she explained. "And I'm telling you, some of those students have _magic_! They did _so_ well, without exception…" 

It was as if she'd never had a sleepless night, never met the Dark Lord, never suffered anything, so relaxed did she seem. It was refreshing and eased the by now almost constant twinge in his heart. 

Dumbledore had spoken to her a few days ago, because Severus had asked him to do so. But apparently, he'd learnt nothing new. She hadn't told Dumbledore any more than Severus. That she would see the Dark Lord dead one day; that she'd do it herself if given the chance; that she was thinking that she were going insane, going mad, probably was mad already. Psychotic. Schizophrenic. That had been the words Dumbledore had used, quoting her—or at least he'd said so. How she had avoided saying the word 'suffering' was beyond either of them. It was one of the words that came first to Severus when he saw her. It was an intruder among much more charming and pleasant expressions.

But today it was as if nothing had ever happened, as if her soul had never been scarred.

She was in high spirits, lovely and simply seductive—in a way, to Severus, she always was lovely and/or seductive. Even at her worst, she had that loveliness to her. And when she was like she was now, temperamental, spontaneously throwing herself into his arms, she was seduction made flesh.

"…everyone in his or her own way. The written exams will make the difference as soon as I've started on grading them."

"Which will keep you away from me again, won't it?" he said, half-joking, half-serious.

"It won't take that long. After all, it's Friday." She stood on tiptoes and blew a kiss to the corner of his mouth, before drawing back again. "I'm most certainly not going to start grading just yet." 

"You do know what that means, don't you?" Severus seized her around the waist and pulled her roughly against his body.

"I'm sure you'll enlighten me," she purred, moving slightly against him, her hands resting lightly against his chest.

"No reason to get up tomorrow, at least not in the morning." He traced her spine with his fingertips. It made her shudder despite the fact that layers of clothing were between his fingers and her skin. Maybe she recalled a few occasions when he'd done that. Certainly.

"Uh-huh. I see your point." She bit her lip and gave him one of those slow looks. She must be practising that. It never missed its effect on him. 

**Familiarity has not yet bred contempt, has it?**

"And I see you."

He blew a kiss on her lips, delighting in the fact that she tried to capture his mouth with hers when he pulled back. "Severus, don't you dare tease me like that," she growled.

"And I want to see more of you," he continued, beginning to blow kisses down her throat, as he undid her robes, his lips never more than merely brushing over her skin, but nonetheless leaving the familiar trail of goose bumps in their wake.

"But you know what I look like, better than anyone else, I daresay." She produced one of those delicious little giggling sighs.

"It seems that I have to refresh the memory," he mumbled against her skin. "I'm getting old and forgetful."

"I'm not going to sleep with an old man, so get off, you," she teased, playfully shoving him away, but gladly letting herself be seized again.

"Then I'm only getting forgetful… But, come to think of it," he said, as her dress found its way to the floor and Severus busied himself with unwrapping her from the lace and satin that were her underwear, "how could I ever forget how beautiful you are…"

He blew another set of kisses down the valley between her breasts, thus eliminating any intelligible answer, she might have thought of, in the beginning. He kissed her and stroked her, beginning another one of his sensual assaults on her. His mouth travelled over her as if it had a will of its own, kissing its way down her stomach, inflicting the sweetest of all tortures on her until her knees went weak and she had to hold on to him for balance. 

Then he lifted her up; she automatically wrapped her arms around him, greedily running her hands over his back and shoulders, and finally managed to draw him into a kiss, mumbling a breathless "Got you" against his lips, before she prevented him from answering by use of her tongue, lips, and her hips, which she pressed against him.

Severus found the spot on her throat again, the spot that always managed to drive her crazy and utter those _interesting_ noises that he so loved.

"I just grew aware of the fact that my desk looks painfully underused," he whispered hoarsely into her ear.

"Poor desk," she gasped, as he moved for said location, and, as soon as her hands were no longer needed to hold on to him, began to busy herself with quickly removing—all but tearing off, that is—his clothing, all the time showering him with kisses of any kind—which was quite an achievement considering the fact that it took her hardly a minute to disrobe him very thoroughly. She was very skilled in that area by now. The little touches and brushes of her small hands excited him even more than he was already. In fact, he felt that he had to have her right this instant.

"Come to think of it, so is the settee, the carpet—Oh!" she interrupted herself, as Severus entered her in a fluid motion, causing his moan to mingle with hers when he covered her mouth with his again. Her fingernails were scraping over his back and shoulders as she arched her back, sending those little rippling and prickling sensations through his system. Her breasts were pressed to his chest—craving teases, touches and kisses. He was cruel; he kissed his way down to them and only let his breath tease them. It caused her to sigh his name, wrap her legs tighter around his hips and strain against him, wordlessly urging him on. 

Instead, he pulled her up and made his way into the bedroom with Sariss all around him, her lips all but feeding on his. Passionately and uninhibitedly, she moaned into his mouth. Her body, her hair, her scent, enveloped him. He laid her down into the pillows as gently as though she were a very rare and very much breakable object and then continued where he'd left off, prolonging it as much as possible, teasing her stomach and breasts and throat with lips, tongue and teeth.

Beneath him, that was where he wanted her to be. At least physically. Perhaps it had to do with domination and control—or the illusion of it. If she didn't like it, nothing would be easier for her than to push him on his back and play the game by her rules. She had already done so several times and Severus had to admit he hadn't objected in the least. On the contrary.

Slow and deep were his movements; passionate touches and ardent kisses were his reward, as he made love to her, telling her in hoarse whispers and gentle caresses that she was most beautiful, lovely and exquisite, that he needed her with his entire being, listening to her answer breathlessly that he must never stop touching her, never stop showing her that he wanted her, that she was his completely—and he didn't stop enjoying her until much later.

He showered some more kisses on her breasts and up her throat until he reached her glowing lips.

"Why are you with me?" Severus said, brushing some strands of damp hair from her beautifully flushed face and throat.

"Maybe it's because you're looking at me the way you do now," she answered, pulling his mouth down on hers for another set of deep and desperate kisses.

Severus didn't care that they missed dinner that day, and neither seemed Sariss. In fact, Severus didn't waste a thought to anything but the feel of her body all around him, the sensation of her fingernails scraping over and digging into his shoulders and back, sometimes inflicting a small sharp stab of pleasant pain on him, her breath on his skin, and the scent of her hair all over him. His pillow would smell of vanilla and strawberry for hours when she'd already have left, not that he'd let her leave all too soon. He'd make sure that she didn't even have a moment to only think about leaving his bedroom, his bed, his arms.

And she didn't.

**~*~*~**

The End Of Term Feast was scheduled to take place the following day. Roundabout two-hundred-and-fifty smiling students and teachers were assembled in the Great Hall celebrating that another year—that is to say, the exams that year—had passed. 

The Hall was decked out in the Gryffindor colours, scarlet and gold, for the seventh year in a row. Dumbledore beamed. 

Everyone was relieved that the exams were over. The fear that they had perhaps failed hadn't yet gripped their hearts, not yet commenced to clutch their stomachs and twist them into the proverbial knot.

Hermione was a bit depressed; actually, she had had those moments all year, as Ron pointed out. She wasn't very fond of the thought that school would be over forever and for weeks she'd been pondering what she'd do after she'd finished her Hogwarts time—until Ron told her that with her marks she probably didn't have to look for anything to do afterwards, as the Ministry would be showering her with owl post, giving her the opportunity to choose freely in which department she'd like to work (Hermione had always been fascinated by the prospect of becoming an Auror—ever since Professor Moody/Barty Crouch had said she'd make a good one. She had no problems with the fact that a criminal had told her that. She regarded it as a compliment.)

Ron was simply glad that the exams were over, just like Harry who was a bit tired since he and Ginny had sneaked out of Gryffindor Tower the previous night (using the Invisibility Cloak) and had been heading for the Astronomy Tower. After all, it was summer and the nights were fairly warm. On their way there, they had almost collided with Professor Ravon who had been prowling the castle on her own. If Harry hadn't had the Marauder's Map with him, they'd have run smack into her. Instead, they'd sneaked into a secret passage. But even so, Harry was pretty sure that she'd known that they had been there. Perhaps she suffered from insomnia? That would explain why she always looked tired…

The rest of the weekend they spent playing Quidditch just for fun and lounging at the lakeshore watching the giant squid perform some tricks and rippling the glittering surface of the lake as it moved, thus reflecting the sunlight beautifully.

It was an extremely lazy day…

And it was good that way.

**~*~*~**

Monday, however, the sky was thick with rain clouds, a constant light rain was falling and nobody wanted to go outside. Either way, since they had plenty of things they could do when inside, it was as enjoyable as the day before. 

But only until after dinner, when Professor McGonagall clumsily clambered through the portrait hole. Looking quite agitated, she asked for all the students to gather in the common room. After a bit of commotion, the students poured down into the common room from the two staircases.

McGonagall scanned the room and then informed the assembled students, "This is an emergency situation. Prefects, please take the roll call and then, everyone, follow me to the Great Hall."

"What's going on?" and similar questions were being asked from all around the room, until McGonagall demanded silence and told them gravely, "Hogwarts is under attack. Everyone is to assemble in the Great Hall from where you will be led to a secret part of the castle. You'll be safe there, no matter what happens."

Stunned silence. One could hardly hear someone breathe as the Prefects took the roll call. The name was being said; the hand of the respective person went up, accompanied by a very small "Yes" or "Here."

The roll call went smoothly—until they reached the letter W.

"Weasley, Virginia!"

No answer.

Harry looked around. Wasn't she supposed to be in here, too? Well, she had been… "Where's Ginny?"

Hermione slapped her forehead. "I forgot. She went to see the unicorns some time ago when you were playing chess with Ron." 

"What if she's still out there?" 

"McGonagall surely thought of that…" 

"She can't think about everything, not with Hogwarts under attack," Harry said, as the Prefects finished the list and presumably began to discuss the matter with the Professor.

Harry fought his way through the throng of students. 

"She might be in the library…"

"So shortly after her end of year test? No way."

"Then perhaps…"

"Professor!" Harry interrupted them. "Ginny's not inside the castle. She went to the unicorn enclosure…" 

"Oh my goodness. I haven't thought about that. In this weather…" she said, concerned. "I only hope Hagrid—Mr Potter, where do you think you're…?"

Harry had dashed through the portrait hole before she had even finished her answer, without so much as thinking that he was most likely endangering himself by going looking for Ginny. He sneaked into secret passageways and hurried through the corridors, almost flying down the staircases, to reach Hagrid's hut with the unicorn enclosure.

As he rushed along the third floor corridor and ran around a corner, he found someone casually leaning against the wall, pointing his wand at Harry, thus blocking his way, and additionally throwing him an evil grin.

Harry came to a sudden halt. 

"Malfoy," he said.

**Next chapter:**

Someone doesn't like to be kept waiting, Harry's in deep trouble, a cameo by Moaning Myrtle and an encounter with the Dark Side.


	32. The Devil's Deeds

**Author's note:** A short one today… Thank you, **Miriam. Nobody else is reading this anymore. That's what I get from this story now being AU…**

Chapter 31: The Devil's Deeds

**_I carry your wounded dreams like the Devil's deeds…  
What do I have to say to make you stay?  
What do I have to do to make you happy?_******

_—Roxette: Staring at the Ground_

"What a coincidence," Malfoy said. "I actually wanted to intercept you on your way down to the Great Hall. This makes it so much easier. To whom do I owe this unexpected benefit?"

"What do you think you're doing, Malfoy?" Harry asked. "What are you going to do? Curse me?"

"Nothing that simple. As for the cursing part—the Dark Lord certainly has a few ideas concerning that."

"Voldemort?"

"How you ever survived an encounter is simply beyond me, thick as you are," he muttered in reply and leisurely sauntered towards him. "He's here. And he's waiting. The master does not like to be kept waiting."

_Here? Where here?_

"Where is he?" Harry asked.

"You'll see… Well, Potter," he went on. "This is it. You can have it the soft or the hard way: Follow my instructions voluntarily or find yourself be forced to do so—oh and before you even think about that you can overcome the Imperius Curse, let me tell you something. There are other ways to make people obey. Your wand, Potter." He held out his hand. 

Harry didn't so much as move a muscle.

"Your wand."

"No way. I'm afraid I have other plans for today." 

"Don't tempt me to cast the Cruciatus Curse on you. Or did you like it so much the last time?" he sneered. "I could magic your voice away, too. No one would hear you scream… Your wand."

Harry decided to give in. It was no use, was it? What was he supposed to do? Run? Malfoy would stun him. Then he'd wake him up again and Harry could try to run again.

Call for help? Malfoy would stun him within the fraction of a second.

Pretend that he wanted to hand over his wand but then cast a curse himself? Malfoy was too close for that. Indeed, he was too close to disarm him even by doing wandless magic—as if Harry could concentrate now that, with Hogwarts under attack and Ginny most likely still outside the castle walls, there was too much else on his mind.

Malfoy snatched Harry's wand. "A wise decision. Didn't think you had it in you."

"You're a bastard. But I knew you had it in you—I just didn't know that you are such a bastard."

"What a pity. A typical Gryffindor—," he began. "Who's following you?" 

Harry furrowed his brows, listening. There were indeed footsteps… They echoed far through the empty corridors… If they'd come just a bit closer, and Harry would call…

"Who's following you?"

Harry was silent, hoping that he could play for time…

"Who is it, Potter?" Malfoy hissed, his wandtip near Harry's throat. Harry didn't want to know what curses Malfoy might have in store for an occasion like this. It was true; the Slytherins most certainly knew more Dark curses than the other students, save perhaps the Ravenclaws, who studied anything if only it was interesting—only theoretically, of course.

But a Slytherin—particularly a Malfoy, Death Eater par excellence—would practice any Dark curse and use it. Harry didn't want to know what was on Malfoy's mind if he didn't cooperate. Would he kill him straight away? If he did, then what about Ginny? Hermione and Ron would tell her that he, Harry, had run off because of her…

Why couldn't he have stayed in the Common Room and then walked down with all the others, hoping that Ginny would be fine, instead of playing right into Malfoy's filthy Death Eater hands?

"Might be Professor McGonagall…" Harry said slowly.

"Silencio!" Malfoy hissed and dragged Harry into an adjacent classroom. 

Harry opened his mouth to call out—but no sound came out. _How stupid! He used the Silencer Spell._

The room had been unused for many years, as he perceived immediately. A lot of dust was in there. Inches thick it covered the floor and the few chairs and desks, and myriads of cobwebs were hanging in the corners and from the ceiling like old lace, ripped, torn and thick with greyish dust.

The clicking footsteps came nearer, accompanied by McGonagall's voice. 

"…foolish boy. Just like his father. Running before thinking. Always getting into…" Harry heard her mutter as she passed. The door was only slightly ajar. 

The sound of her footfalls faded and Malfoy peered through the narrow gap of the door, never giving Harry the opportunity to try and overpower him. He always had him in his viewing range.

After another few seconds had passed, Malfoy dragged Harry out again, shoving him along corridors and passages in utter silence. 

Voldemort was here… If Malfoy was taking Harry to him, he must be somewhere inside the castle. Hidden… 

Where would he be if he didn't want to be discovered too soon? 

The direction they were going…

A hidden place. Inaccessible under normal circumstances perhaps? A secret place? Secret…

Harry's mind was putting one and one together…

Could it be that Malfoy was leading him to—.

Yes. The second floor corridor it was. The door with the ever-present 'Out of order' sign. Moaning Myrtle's bathroom—and the pipe that would be leading down into the Chamber of Secrets.

Indeed a _secret_ place. Very much secluded. Dark and cold. It was a long time since he had been down there. Five years. He still remembered it. If the Basilisk—the dead Basilisk—was still decaying? Had its blood dried on the stone, leaving behind black stains that were still visible? Was Harry's own blood still there? The Basilisk fang with which he'd pierced and destroyed the cursed diary that had drawn its life from Ginny, thus draining her and almost killing her?

A suitable place. Suitable for Voldemort. A dome. A cathedral. A tomb. Was it to be—?

"Open the sink, Potter," Malfoy interrupted Harry's disquieting thoughts.

Harry tried to answer, but found he still couldn't. Thus, he indicated his throat.

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Of course. Finite Incantatem."

"This is a _girls_' bathroom!" a voice wailed.

Myrtle soared out of her cubicle—or rather through its door, literally—and stopped in mid-air, floating and blinking, somewhat annoyed. But then, as her transparent gaze fell on Harry, her usually sombre face lightened up a bit.

"Oh, it's you again. Hullo, Harry." She actually smiled, but then seemed to remember something. "You haven't been visiting me for years! You promised! Some promise that—."

"Sorry, Myrtle. But this is not the time…" 

"Of course, Myrtle's just good enough to answer questions and help solve some riddles and—." 

"Please, Myrtle, listen…"

"No, you listen. You so promised to come and visit me more often. I thought we were—."

"Can't some people even just shut up in death?!" Malfoy shouted.

Harry was almost grateful. Myrtle had been launching into a tirade about ungratefulness and friendlessness. But Malfoy had been a bit tactless when he'd interrupted her. He'd said the 'D'-word…

And as Harry feared, there was Myrtle doing exactly what Myrtle did when only something remotely connected with life and death was mentioned. She started wailing. Loudly and piercingly—which might even be a good thing. If someone passed the door, they'd hear…

"Rub it in, will you?" she whined. "Even in death people are teasing me, verbally abusing me…" 

She disappeared into her toilet, sobbing in her very favourite place—the infamous u-bend.

"Open the sink, Potter," Malfoy repeated.

"So we're heading for the chamber?" Harry said. It was more of a rhetorical question than anything else, but Malfoy replied anyway.

"What? Oh, I almost forgot. You've already been down there, haven't you? It's quite useful, you know, your being a Parselmouth… It saves the Dark Lord quite some trouble. And now open it and you might just live a little while longer," Malfoy threatened Harry again. "I've been waiting to say this all my life."

"You're not going to kill me," Harry said. 

"How presumptuous… And why not?"

"Because Voldemort wants to do it himself."

"You're right—but only in a certain respect. He'd very much prefer to kill you himself. _Prefer_, I said. But if necessary, I, as every single other Death Eater in the world, have the leave to kill you. Of course, only if you decide not to cooperate, that is." Malfoy grinned evilly. "But as you are a Gryffindor…"

_Oh yes. I'm a Gryffindor; just like my father. And if I am to die tonight, I'm going to die just like my father did. I'm not going to be slaughtered by Malfoy of all people. And he knows it. If Voldemort wants me dead, he'll have to do it himself. Not because it is his decision, but because I choose death by _his_ hand, not Malfoy's nor__ any other's._

Harry stared into Malfoy's cold pale-grey eyes. "Right, I am a Gryffindor. And Malfoy? I've survived so many encounters with him… What makes you think that I won't survive this time?"

"Are you mad? Who's going to save you? Dumbledore and all the other Professors are either surveying the attack on the wards—divisionary tactics, of course—or watching over those Muggle-loving fools in the Great Hall. As for Snape and Ravon, they're probably too occupied with shagging somewhere…" He made a noise of disgust. "And that when they both could have stood to the left and right of the Dark Lord's throne. Traitors, that's what they are. They'll be next."

"Ravon could defeat you and that filthy lot single-handed."

"Yes, the same way she did once already or what? Oh wait, I remember," he said sarcastically, "she didn't. Remind me again, what exactly the Master did to her…"

"You weren't even there."

"How would _you_ know?" he drawled.

"Because I was there. I saw it. In my dreams. Just like I saw you crawling on the ground, suppressing a scream when the Mark was burnt into your arm, writhing in pain with the Cruciatus Curse, whispering your thanks to the Dark Lord and kissing the hem of his robes. If that's what being a Death Eater is all about, I'm even gladder that I never joined them."

"Shut up, you—."

"Yes? Out with it. Call me something you haven't called me before. Tell me something I don't know."

"You're playing for time, is that it?" Malfoy snarled.

_Damn. _Harry closed his eyes for a moment.

"Open the entrance." Malfoy brutally shoved him towards the row of sinks; all the time, Harry felt the wand between his shoulder blades. As he passed the mirrors, he could even see a few sparks emitting from its tip, fortunately not setting his robes on fire or doing something even worse than that.

'_Open!_' Harry hissed to the small snake that was carved deeply but quite ornately into the surface of one of the sinks. The sinks parted. One of them disappeared into the floor and once again revealed the dark opening that would lead down into the tunnel.

"Get in," Malfoy said, pushing Harry towards the large pipe.

Harry obeyed. Deep inside he knew that Malfoy was right. No one would come. He would be missed of course, but who would ever think of looking for him down there, where they were going now?

He slid down, Malfoy right behind him. He had lighted his wand. Its feeble light indicated that he was quite close. Harry would have to jump to the side if he didn't want Malfoy to land on top of him—which he clearly didn't want, thank you very much.

In silence, they made their way along the tunnel. Harry was lost in his thoughts, his memories. The last time he had been where he was now, had been with Lockhart and Ron when they had been on their way to rescue Ginny out of the Heir of Slytherin's grasp—oh what he wouldn't give if they were here now; even Lockhart he could endure.

As they neared the Chamber, they—or rather Harry—found that the heavy doors were already open.

_Has he left them open for Malfoy to come down here, even if I were dead?_ Harry wondered. _But then, who would have opened the entrance?_

"After you. The Master is expecting you already. You should feel honoured," Malfoy mocked and pushed Harry forward once more, seemingly just for the sake of it. "He even saved you the trouble of opening the doors."

Harry walked into the gloom of the Chamber, Malfoy right behind him, almost like a shadow. 

With sharp scraping noises, the doors slid shut behind them. Now no one would be able to enter anymore…

As they walked down the aisle between the pillars, Harry had a strong déjà-vu. He almost expected to see a sixteen-year-old dark-haired boy at the foot of Salazar Slytherin's statue. But he didn't. As they neared the far end of the Chamber and the statue, Harry perceived that a throne had been set up right in the middle between a double-line of Death Eaters. Five Death Eaters standing with their heads bowed, their faces obscured by the heavy hoods of their black cloaks. 

Malfoy gave Harry a last push and then took his place in the line. The Death Eaters were now slightly behind Harry, on either side of him, and Voldemort stared at him for a few long seconds with those gleaming red eyes of his. He still looked the way he had during the Priori Incantatem.

"The time has come," the Dark Lord said, "to talk of many things." His voice was still the same. Of course, Harry had heard it in his dreams but that was not comparable to the real thing. A sleeping mind couldn't perceive the full horror of this hissing, high-pitched, simply evil voice. Voldemort would have made the most tender of caresses sound like a threat.

He raised himself from his throne in a way that he thought would be regal or graceful. To Harry, however, he looked more like an oversized serpent as he approached him.

Shivers ran down Harry's spine as he met the Dark Lord's gaze who was now standing only few feet away.

The last time they had met, Harry had had to look up quite a bit. Now he was as tall as Voldemort, so that the latter didn't even have to stoop to bring his face close to Harry's.

"So we meet again," Voldemort spoke. "I fear the pleasure will be entirely mine… Of course, that would be depending on your decisions."

"Decisions," Harry muttered.

The Dark Lord continued as though Harry hadn't spoken. "Remember the first time we actually met, Harry? When my not so very talented but quite useful servant Slatero Quirrell helped me in my quest for the Philosopher's Stone?"

Harry said nothing, only nodded.

"I said it then and I am going to repeat it now: Join me. I can give you power. Join me and I shall even bring back your parents. Your mother needn't have died after all; and your father, well, let's just say that he stood between me and my quest for infinite power which I just might call completed now. You only have to say it, Harry. Say you'll join me, and you shall not only have your family back but also receive more power than you could ever imagine." He stepped close to Harry once more. "Am I not merciful? Am I not generous?" During the last line of his speech, the Dark Lord had put a hand onto Harry's shoulder, his fingertip brushing Harry's neck. Harry's scar twitched nastily and he bit back a gasp.

_He's insane. He must be. There's no other explanation_, Harry thought. Out loud he stated firmly: "The dead can't be brought back to life."

"Dumbledore told you so, I suppose. Funny the conversation should have switched to this subject."

Harry didn't move a muscle.

"Yes," the Dark Lord hissed. "I would think so." Then he gave a short, high-pitched laugh that made a gust of cold run over Harry's spine as it had done since the first time he'd heard it. Voldemort continued, his voice almost seductively low. "It is very advanced magic—neither light nor dark, but very ancient. So ancient that it took Quirrell—bless his soul—," he mocked, "a great amount of time to even discover its origins. But he did; and he did well, I must admit."

_He's a liar_, Harry thought. _Neither light nor dark?__ That's rich. If necromancy isn't defined as Dark magic, I don't know what is_.

"So you see, the great Albus Dumbledore… he lied. When has the man ever told you the whole truth? Doesn't he prefer leaving you in the dark? Make the boy suffer, throw him in the deep end so he may figure out how to swim all by himself. Who cares? Everything can be explained afterwards." The mockery was not only clearly audible; one could also see the insane joy Voldemort felt when he uttered the words. The most painful about what he'd said was that there was a tiny grain of truth in it. Dumbledore himself couldn't have found a way to deny it, could he? 

_No_, Harry thought, _Dumbledore always told me what I needed to know—even if I didn't like his keeping some things from me sometimes… And he was always there when I needed his help—if not in body, then in spirit…_

But the Dark Lord was still speaking. "I, on the other hand, never lied to you. I am perfectly willing to fulfil your heart's deepest and most desperate desire—a family; your family. Just say you'll join me. Be my heir. It only takes one simple word." At that, Voldemort grasped Harry's face with one of his spidery thin hands and a sharp pain pierced through the scar once again. The Dark Lord let go suddenly and said quietly, almost pleadingly, "Think about it. Say yes."

Harry tried hard to recover quickly from the shock of pain, the Dark Lord had inflicted upon him with his touch. He was confused. What Voldemort said made no sense. It just didn't fit. On the one hand, he offered to bring back his parents; on the other hand, he wanted him to be his 'heir.' Wouldn't Harry's parents do something—anything—to prevent this from happening? He could never look his parents in the eyes if he joined Voldemort. They'd given their lives to prevent Harry from being killed by the Dark Lord; should he taint their sacrifice by joining Voldemort who was the incarnation of everything they'd fought? As painful as the thought of never hearing his parents say that they loved him, his mother smoothing back his hair and kissing his forehead or his father saying that he was proud of his son was—Harry knew he must not give in. 

"I can't…" he whispered after a long silence.

"You can. I know it. I can feel it," the Dark Lord whispered in return.

Harry shook his head. _This is it. The point of no return. This time the Boy Who Lived wouldn't escape… I'm going to die today…_

Swallowing hard since he knew he was going to sign his certain death warrant with his answer, Harry forced out a strained, "No, I'm never going to join you. Never."

Voldemort raised his eyebrows; then he slowly shook his head. "Pity. Then you shall suffer—and die."

He took a few steps back and brandished his wand.

"Crucio!" he screamed, and Harry staggered back as the curse hit him violently, as if Voldemort had laid all his hate, fury and evil in it. He couldn't stay on his feet anymore, no matter how hard he tried, no matter how much he might despise the thought of writhing on the ground at the Dark Lord's feet.

"Mordeo!"

Harry remembered that curse from the dream he had had. The one in which Voldemort had tortured Professor Ravon. 

The pain increased. While the Cruciatus Curse didn't hurt your body although it felt like it, those curses now would inflict severe injuries on Harry. He felt he was being cut and bitten and beaten and stabbed. It was indescribable. It felt as if it would never stop. Harry clenched his teeth together. _Don't scream._

Harry fought against the pain, screwing his eyes shut, pressing his lips together to keep from crying out loud, silently crying out for Ron, Ginny, Hermione, Dumbledore… anyone! He needed help. He didn't want to die. What if no one realized he was missing? What if… Someone must be able to hear him. It was not that uncommon that this worked—especially under extreme circumstances. Professor Ravon had said so in her wandless magic lesson…

And thus, he cried out for help with his mind, for anyone who was willing to listen. _Help me! Anyone! Somebody please! They are inside the castle! He's going to kill me and once he's done that, there will be no stopping him from entering the castle and killing everyone who stands in his way…_

It felt like hours—but it couldn't be, could it? Someone must be missing him already. At least Ginny would…

It was as if he heard a voice in the back of his mind suddenly, a voice telling him to watch and think about what he saw, an urgent sounding voice. Well, actually it wasn't more than an urge. The voice didn't use words. It just pressured him to think consciously about his surroundings instead of the pain.

And despite the pain wrecking his body, the white-hot knives piercing him, he forced his eyes open and imprinted everything he saw in his mind. The Chamber itself, the stone columns on either side of the aisle, the figure of Salazar Slytherin, the towering figure of Voldemort, the half dozen of Death Eaters that was with him, his innermost circle, his most trusted… And strange as it was, concentrating on his surroundings instead of himself, his body, his fear, made the pain less sharp, it felt more distant, number somehow… Not that it had stopped hurting, of course not, but it was more bearable—if one could use this word in the same sentence with _Tormenting Curses_.

But the Dark Lord had only just begun.

"Flagello!"

So Voldemort intended to make him go through the same ordeal as he'd done with—?

Harry couldn't finish his thought, since the first strike of an invisible whiplash prevented him from doing so. He found he was kneeling on the ground—how he ever scrambled into this position was beyond him—his arms over his face to protect his eyes, panting and groaning with pain, as another whip was added to the first, and more and more and even more…

Every heartbeat pounded in Harry's head like a drum. He could hear his own blood rushing through his veins. Was he bleeding? He didn't know if the moisture that had gathered all over his body and begun to soak his clothes was blood or merely sweat. 

Instinctively, Harry tried to shield himself from the attacks, but as the weapons were invisible, he couldn't even grasp them and rip them out of the attacker's grip…

Somebody screamed.

Harry was confused. Who would be screaming?

Then he realized with a start that it was he. Harry himself screamed as never before. And as it seemed he couldn't even stop. He didn't even need to breathe to be able to scream, or so it seemed.

"Contundo!"

Harry felt himself being lifted into the air; the pain had stopped for a moment, but then he felt himself being thrown against one of the stone pillars. The air was pressed out of his lungs. Harry thought he heard his bones crack. Then he landed on the ground in a heap, hoping it would be over, but it wasn't.

The invisible forces were back, beating him and bruising him. He couldn't think properly anymore. All his senses seemed to be filled with pain. He could taste his blood, smell it, see stars explode before his eyes, although they were closed. As waves of agony rushed through him once more, he heard himself scream again.

"Finite Incantatem!"

The scream broke off. The silence was breathtaking.

It took Harry a while, until he realized that there were no more curses, no more forces hurting him. Harry tried to take stock of himself.

He was bleeding all over. Check.

A few ribs seemed to be broken, but they didn't hurt that much, not after the curses. Check.

He had lost his glasses—and he realized, he must have dropped his wand too—no… no, he hadn't. Malfoy had taken it sometime back. Now he remembered. He couldn't think clearly, his whole body hurt. He was quite sure that this was roundabout how Professor Ravon must have felt when Voldemort had tortured her.

For a long while, all Harry heard was the sound of his ragged breathing; all he saw was the faraway dark-grey ceiling—or maybe it seemed only dark-grey because of the gloom and the fact that Harry's eyes were so bad.

"Draco." 

Malfoy stepped towards Voldemort and bowed.

"Yes, my master."

"The boy's wand."

"I have it here, master." He held it out for the Dark Lord to take.

Voldemort accepted the proffered wand. He turned to Harry, his spidery hand idly playing with it. His own wand firmly clenched in his other hand.

"So powerful they could have been together. What they could have created… The destruction they could have caused together. Brothers. No other two wands can achieve what a wand and its brother can do. A pity that this has to be done. But it was your decision, not mine."

He couldn't possibly! It was a part of Harry. It was almost as though he'd cut off Harry's right arm… He couldn't possibly intend to—.

"No…" Harry moaned. It was quite in vain.

"Snap it, Draco."

Like a whip crack or a bone breaking, a sickening splintering noise echoed through the chamber. The wand had been snapped in half. 

Voldemort smiled evilly—or so Harry thought; he could hear it in his voice—and said, sounding almost benevolent, "You won't be needing it anymore, anyway. I guarantee."

Never had Harry felt so defeated. Never in his whole life would he have realized how much a part of a wizard his respective wand was. It had been a loyal and reliable friend. It had saved him from Voldemort. It had obeyed. It had worked splendidly. And now it was broken, just like Harry was…

Harry couldn't even see where Malfoy had thrown the pieces. Everything was blurry. He realized that tears were stinging in his eyes. He couldn't tell one Death Eater from the other. Their white faces over their dark-clad torsos were indistinguishable. 

_If only I had my glasses back on. Stupid eyes. I swear if I survive this, I'll get contact lenses._

**If.******

_I won't even see him properly when he kills me…_

Now Voldemort laughed again—this cruel, high-pitched laughter that had haunted Harry in his sleep for a great part of his life.

The Dark Lord swept into Harry's blurred line of view and started to speak. "And now you—."

But he was interrupted as the great doors suddenly began to slide open with loud scraping noises that echoed through the Chamber, and a small black blotch whirled in. Harry screwed up his eyes. He thought he saw a bird, a black bird. It circled the room before it headed towards Voldemort. But before it reached him it expanded in size until a figure clad all in black stood just a few yards away from the Dark Lord—there was no doubt. It was Sariss Ravon.

"Seize her!" Voldemort yelled and the Death Eaters obeyed.

They started to approach her in an attempt to restrain her before she could cause any trouble. He saw her raise her left hand and make a movement that he could only interpret as a motion one would make to throw their wand away. His assumption was confirmed as soon as he heard a faint clatter echoing through the chamber. The Death Eaters were apparently confused. And then she quickly raised her arms on either side of her body, palms facing outwards. Something akin to electricity seemed to invade the air, leaving a prickling sensation all over Harry's body, making his hair stand on end. Harry screwed up his eyes again to see better—and suddenly the Death Eaters flew backwards, crashing into the walls and the stone columns on either side of the aisle that led towards the statue of Salazar Slytherin. All this happened within only a few seconds. The prickling sensation remained; the static energy blowing through the chamber like a light breeze that made Professor Ravon's hair fan out around her. She looked like a banshee…

But to Harry it felt as if his guardian angel had materialized out of thin air.

Voldemort had his daughter at wandpoint now. "Claudo veneficium," he said and Professor Ravon flinched a bit. "Sariss, this has been a very stupid thing to do," he hissed. "This time, there's no one here to save you."

"I might not need to be saved."

She turned her head slightly and glanced shortly at Harry, and he could have sworn he saw her nod almost imperceptibly, but he couldn't be sure.

"The boy's not in a state to help you. He's weakened. His wand has been snapped already. He'll die as soon as I've disposed of you. But I'd like you to tell me how you found me—just to satisfy my curiosity. It's not that I couldn't spare the time, is it?" 

Seeing that Voldemort had his attention completely focused at Professor Ravon, Harry now remembered what she had taught him, so he concentrated on finding his glasses and mouthed "Accio, glasses!" Nothing happened. He tried again—nothing. _Stay calm. Concentrate. Focus. Now._ "Accio, glasses!"

And suddenly they were in his hand and he pushed them onto his nose, glad that he could finally relax the muscles in his face again.

"Perhaps you failed to take into account my hidden assets," she said, having shifted her gaze back to the Dark Lord and slowly taking off her gloves. _Why did she do this now? _Harry asked himself. _Was she playing for time? What were her intentions?_

But the answer to his question was given instantly as Professor Ravon lifted her left hand and held it out in front of her, the palm of her hand facing towards Voldemort. And Harry could also see it and caught his breath just like the Dark Lord did. Voldemort glanced shortly at Harry and then back at her again.

_A scar just like mine_, Harry thought. _That's why she was wearing gloves for quite some time…_ She must have been the one to catch his psychic message because of this scar; she must have been _the voice_. _But how is this possible?_

And suddenly he remembered. Like a door that had been opened, the memories poured into his conscious mind. He remembered when he'd first seen her. She had been _there_. Yet, this was impossible. But he remembered it as he had started gradually remembering more and more of what had happened the night his parents had died during the last few years. How his father's voice had told his mother to take little Harry and go… How his mother had refused to stand back and let Harry be killed by Voldemort… And then the green light that was Avada Kedavra hurtling towards him… After that mayhem, noises, clatter, damage—and a body that shielded him, lying heavily on him for a few minutes… And then a face, her face, looking down on him for a few seconds, then leaving him for a few minutes and coming back to pick him up… Sariss Ravon/Riddle had been in Godric's Hollow the night the Potters died… If they survived this now Harry would have a lot of questions to ask her—and Dumbledore, too. Nothing that concerned Harry happened without him knowing about it. Almost nothing…

"Some things can't be changed," Professor Ravon said. "Others can."

Then she started walking, only coming to a halt when she reached a position a few feet away from Voldemort. Harry could also see her face clearly now; he could even see her eyes that were almost as green as his if it wasn't for the bit of brown in them. Had Avada Kedavra done this to her? Harry was quite sure this must be so. It had not affected his own eyes because his had always been green—he'd seen his eyes on some photos of himself and his parents…

And then she spoke, holding her arms in a position as though she wanted to embrace an old friend.

"Father," she said softly…

**~*~*~**

_Farther up in Hogwarts castle, an hour or two earlier that day…_

Sariss hurried towards the Astronomy Tower since Dumbledore had contacted her and asked her to do so. There was apparently an attempt to breach the wards, a Death Eater attack. And as far as Sariss could tell from what Dumbledore had said, Voldemort's whole army was out there. The headmaster had sent Hagrid to contact the giants again, opening a small gap in the wards on the side that faced the Forbidden Forest, sealing it again after he had passed through. The giants were living in the mountains—they hadn't left Britain after the siege that had happened two years ago—and it would take them only a few hours to get here—hopefully in time…

As Sariss stepped out onto the platform she saw that the other teachers, save McGonagall, were already assembled and surveying the grounds. 

Flitwick squeaked nervously, "They aren't really trying very hard to breach the wards, are they? All the charms still intact… so many attackers and not a single charm broken… strange…"

"I don't have a good feeling about all of this either…" Snape confirmed his suspicions.

Sariss stepped between Severus and the headmaster.

"Ah, Sariss. You must have flown through the castle to get here so quickly."

She took hold of Severus's hand and squeezed it slightly, only out of habit, before releasing it again. "Has anything… important happened?" she asked the headmaster, who shook his head.

"No, we suspect that they are only distracting us—yet we're not sure what they're…" Dumbledore trailed off as very fast footsteps could be heard.

McGonagall came rushing through the doorway. One look at her face told Sariss clearly that she was in quite a state. And her words confirmed it. "Potter is missing. Mr. Weasley just informed me that Harry hasn't joined the other students. And Draco Malfoy—" at that, she threw a glance at Severus "—seemingly can't be found either."

Dumbledore glanced at them. "This is not good. They can't have left Hogwarts grounds. Voldemort's army would either be not here anymore or trying to breach the wards in earnest, if they had."

"Perhaps they're waiting for something…" Sariss whispered.

"They can't get into the castle without breaching the wards, can they?" Severus asked.

"There are certain ways..." Dumbledore tilted his head to the side, looking thoughtful, as though he were listening intently. Then he furrowed his brows and said, "They are already inside somewhere…"

"How? Hogwarts is unplottable. You can't Apparate on Hogwarts grounds. They can't be inside already…" McGonagall interrupted.

"Under normal circumstances, not really; at least not without us being aware of them. But there are certain ways to enter unplottable locations." Dumbledore looked at Sariss and Severus. "However they would need someone to provide them with them from inside—" 

"Malfoy," Sariss and Severus whispered in unison.

"This is what I had feared—and suspected, too," Severus took over. "I just didn't think he'd openly declare himself a Death Eater before he had left Hogwarts for good. Apparently the Dark Lord had other plans."

"Then we must find them. If it is as you say, they are still inside the castle somewhere," Sariss concluded.

"Yes, go and search the castle. However, although this attack serves only the purpose of distracting our attention it is nonetheless required to be watched closely. They might just try and get through the wards anyway. We can't take any risks that could lead to having to fight on two fronts—even more so if it should prove true that some of them are already inside…"

Professors Snape and Ravon turned around as one and—with their robes billowing behind them as a result of their fast pace—made their way down the stairs to turn every stone, every secret passage, every mouse hole inside the castle, upside down. Where could they be?

A strange sensation crawled over Sariss. She grabbed hold of Severus's sleeve. He turned around. "Is something wrong?"

"I just felt like someone walked over my grave," she whispered. An unpleasant feeling was spreading through her. 

He looked at her, concerned. "Are you sure you—" 

She flinched. "Ouch!" Sariss said and grabbed her left hand with the other; the scar had stung quite badly. She'd stopped walking as soon as it had started hurting.

"I… The scar, it hurt. It never hurt before…" Sariss answered thoughtfully. Then she clenched her teeth together and sucked air in between her teeth, giving a groan of pain. The scar suddenly stung as though hot knifes had pierced right through her hand. She swayed.

Severus rushed to her side, steadying her; then he took her hand to take a look at her palm. The scar was livid against her pale skin. She bit her lip in pain to muffle a scream that dreaded to escape her. 

Suddenly she tensed, her intakes of breath short and shallow, and ripped her hand out of Severus's grasp to cradle it with her other hand. She screwed her eyes shut, as two tears started slithering down her cheeks, and began to rock back and forth. "Sariss! Do you need help? Do you want me to take you to the infirmary? Are you in pain?"

Her eyes snapped open suddenly. She looked at him. "No, this is not _my_ pain," she whispered, realizing just what this might mean. "Not _I_ am in pain. _He_ is. Voldemort must have him already. He must have touched him…"

"Who? Potter?" Severus enquired.

She nodded, her eyes wide in astonishment and shock. "It's the only possible explanation. The scars are indeed connected. Incredible…"

**~*~*~**

"But where are they?" Severus asked, fully aware that this wasn't really a question, rather an exclamation born out of desperation.

"I don't know," she snapped impatiently. "How should I—" she suddenly broke off, her eyes darting around wildly. After a while she spoke up again, "Wait a second… Harry is cold, lying on a stone floor. He's in pain, terrible pain. Voldemort… Harry says he's going to kill him—" 

"What are you talking about?" Severus was still quite a bit puzzled at her reactions.

She grabbed him by the collar of his robe and pushed him against the wall, one hand over his mouth. "Quiet…" she whispered, closing her eyes as though she were listening.

"What is it?" Severus mumbled against her hand. He couldn't help the tingling sensation that slowly spread over his lips at her touch.

"He's describing what he sees for me… A huge stone room, columns on either side of the aisle leading towards a rather ugly statue of a man, apish looking—does that make sense?—with a very long beard—"

"Slytherin! The Chamber!" Severus exclaimed, realizing that Sariss must be able to see and feel something of what the Potter boy saw and felt. Dumbledore had been right when he'd said a connection had been established. "Who's there, Sariss?" he asked, grabbing her tightly around the shoulders.

She seemed to think again; then she said, "Death Eaters. Half a dozen or so. Voldemort—"

"The Inner Circle." _If things had been any different I'd be there, too… _"Not more?"

"As strange as this might seem… No. Not more."

"Why?"

"Perhaps this is what Voldemort thinks is appropriate. His _style_," Sariss snarled before beginning to take deep calming breaths, trying to block out the pain, perhaps trying to tell Harry that it was enough, enough by far. That they were coming…

"The room you described—it is the Chamber of Secrets, an underground vault, deep below the dungeons of Hogwarts. I've never been there, but—" 

"Do you know where it is?" Sariss interrupted suddenly back in business mode.

"Dumbledore told me, but—Wait a minute… You're a Parseltongue! That's it!" He took hold of her arm and pulled her after him. "Come on, I'll show you the way. Dumbledore can take care of the attack while we try and settle this…"

"Right. There's no time to inform him. Knowing him he already has an idea about what's going on, despite of what he wants us to believe…"

**~*~*~**

Dumbledore always knew what was going on around Hogwarts, Sariss was sure about that. Perhaps he was deliberately offering her this opportunity… although they had never spoken about it, not since the day it had been made…

Severus walked so fast that Sariss had to break into a run at times to keep up with him as he rushed along corridors, moved aside tapestries to use secret passages as a shortcut, hurried down the staircases and along another corridor that Sariss recognized as being located on the second floor.

The Potions master came to a halt in front of a door. A girls' bathroom with an out of order sign sticking to the door. 

"In there," Severus said and opened the door, his footsteps making squishing sounds as he trod on the flooded floor. Clearly out of order, that one…

"Wait a second. This must be Myrtle's bathroom!" Sariss exclaimed.

"You've been here before?"

"No, not really. You see, as a student you tend to encounter her in the strangest places—" She hadn't been here but like everybody else she knew that you had better avoid this bathroom—unless you wanted a wailing ghost following you around telling you childhood stories about Olive Hornby…

"Don't remind me."

"My, my, where's the party?" the respective person—sorry, ghost—exclaimed, floating out of one of the cubicles and eyeing the visitors curiously.

"Oh, hullo, Myrtle, still here?" Sariss drawled. _Great, a conversation with a miserable ghost—although one of my smaller problems…_

"So we're indeed not… your first visitors today?" Severus asked cautiously.

"No, you're not. Although the first two were much cuter than you."

Sariss covered her mouth to prevent herself from laughing at the expression that flickered across Severus's face. Despite everything, Myrtle _did_ seem to have a sense of humour—or perhaps she was only very straightforward (although Sariss was of a completely different opinion concerning Severus's cuteness). Sariss cleared her throat and spoke nonetheless, trying to hold back the giggles that threatened to escape her. As grave as the whole situation was, it was also highly bizarre and very absurd, when one took into account that all of this was probably nearing its end…

"Was it Harry Potter?" she asked.

"How do you know? Yes, it was him and I tell you I was very angry with him because he hadn't visited me for _years_… and he had _promised_!" Myrtle blew her nose on a transparent ghost-handkerchief, as Severus indicated the sinks and said softly only for Sariss to hear, "The entrance is behind one of those. There must be a small snake engraved somewhere." Sariss nodded and went to inspect the sinks thoroughly.

"But he was so polite!" Myrtle continued. "Unlike the other one."

"The other one?" Severus asked suspiciously although he must have known the answer already.

Sariss only randomly followed the further conversation, inspecting the sinks one by one, then, finally, running her gloved hand over the image of a small snake.

"—that blond boy! Obnoxious, really, so _impolite_. Told me to shut up, reminded me again that I… I'm… dead!" Myrtle broke into tears and vanished into one of the cubicles with a loud splash just as Sariss turned around to face Severus and announced, "I've got it." Sobbing and wailing could be heard, emanating from the cubicle Myrtle had disappeared into.

"Well, open it," Severus said as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"How is that supposed to work? Do you want me to simply ask it to please slide to the side or what?"

"If you put it that way… yes. Although you'd better speak Parseltongue when you tell your little friend there to open up."

Sariss looked at him doubtfully. "It's not even a real snake. How am I supposed to speak to something that's not even alive? Are you sure it works that way?"

"Are you implying that you might not be capable of doing something the Potter boy—to my knowledge—has already done twice?" he challenged.

She gave him a dirty look, then turned back towards the snake, tilting her head to the side. _If I look at it from this angle it looks almost alive… perhaps…_ "Open," she hissed. 

Nothing happened.

Turning around to face Severus she said, "Any better ideas?"

"No."

"What?"

"There's no need to. Look," he pointed behind her. She looked over her shoulder, doubtfully and cautiously.

The sinks were parting. An opening became visible as they were sliding apart. And one sink disappeared into the floor, very slowly until it was as if it had never been there, and revealed a large pipe. A very dark large pipe.

"I admit that I'm full of surprises. Even to myself," she stated dryly.

"That's what I fear, too," Severus muttered. Sariss ignored it. She knew what he was implying by this. There was no reason to confirm his fears now; she'd do this soon enough.

Instead of replying to what he'd just said, she prepared to jump down the pipe. "Looks like fun, doesn't it?" she murmured sarcastically, before jumping into it and sliding down with a small scream—the pipe was not only very dark but also very slimy—and a groan when she rather unceremoniously hit the ground.

She quickly got up to make room for Severus who should be coming through any second now and pulled out her wand. "Lumos!"

And there he came sliding down, slowing the descent and then rather elegantly stepping out of the pipe. Sariss glared at him. 

"What?"

"Nothing," she said. "After all, you _saw_ the end of the pipe. I didn't."

"A rather abrupt end of the journey then, wasn't it?"

"That's one way to put it." She looked down the tunnel and started walking. "Lacking any alternatives, I suggest we take this way."

"Are we playing 'follow the leader'?" he asked as he followed her and whispered, "Lumos."

"This is not a time for jokes, Severus," she replied impatiently. "This is a serious situation."

"I know that. I was just trying to—"

"Don't try to cheer me up," she said, taking his hand in hers, just to be close to him and feel the warmth of him seep through the satin glove for as much time as possible.

They walked in silence, at fast pace, not looking back, stepping over the remains of animals, small bones that cracked when one of them accidentally set foot on them. 

A huge snakeskin was lying in the middle of a small widening of the tunnel. "The Basilisk skin," Severus whispered in awe.

Sariss said nothing; she simply walked on.

After another minute or so, they came across a cave-in. The rocks and earth had been pushed to the side already, and with a wave of her hand, Sariss cleared the tunnel enough to enable the two of them to easily pass through the now sufficiently large opening.

The tunnel continued, on and on it went, every time it seemed to reach its end it turned round a corner…

"Severus," Sariss finally broke the silence. There were some things that had to be said. "I must end this madness. This can't continue; it must not."

"What can we do? We can hardly walk in there and announce 'Check mate; hand over your wands and prisoner.'"

"I never said 'we' would walk in there."

"You aren't going to face him alone, are you?" Severus asked, incredulous, releasing her hand and running his fingers through his hair. "This is ridiculous! You'll be dead before you can utter his name."

"Do you trust me?" she asked softly, her eyes firmly on the ground in front of her, from time to time darting into the darkness that lay ahead of them.

"With my life—but not with your own."

She sighed. "Severus, please, I know what I'm doing. I've done research. I know I can do it. After all, the prophecy said something that could very well apply to me," she pleaded. "I believe Dumbledore thinks so, too. Otherwise he—"

"You're about to do something very stupid. You can't just switch to Plan B if you fail executing Plan A. There are no second chances when facing the Dark Lord. Nothing is to be changed by you becoming a martyr," he almost shouted and grabbed her by she shoulders, carefully balancing his wand between two fingers. Strange how Sariss seemed to notice every little detail about him now…

They had reached what was supposedly the entrance to the Chamber. A doorway guarded by two giant snakes made of stone, but so lifelike they seemed to wait for the perfect opportunity to strike. A greenish glow was passing through the very narrow gap between the door and the threshold.

"If I am to die," Sariss said, chancing a look at the doors. "I'll make sure he'll grace me with his presence in hell. And it's up to you to make sure nothing's left once I'm through with him. There might still be life in him after…" she trailed off, her voice not as steady as she would have liked it to sound—and she seemed unable to finish the sentence, but Severus apparently understood nonetheless.

"Sariss…" he said, a shaken and terribly sad expression on his face—it almost broke her heart to see him like this—and took her hands in his. "This is horrible. Don't do this, please. I beseech you. I don't want to lose you…"

"And I don't want to leave you," she whispered. "But if he kills Harry Potter, there will be nothing to stop him from entering Hogwarts by means of this tunnel and establish a rein of terror. The boy is the very symbol that keeps the wizarding world fighting against the Darkness. This boy symbolizes hope, a glimmer of light in the darkest of shadows—he's the last of the Gryffindor bloodline, after all. History mustn't repeat itself. The Dark Times must not be repeated. This time it would be far worse and we'd die for sure. All of us—and you and me would be first—after Potter. I can at least _try_ to prevent this from happening. If I fail, history will remember me as a traitor, if I succeed—"

"You'll be a martyr! You'll be dead! There won't be a difference!"

"Perhaps. But perhaps not. Neither of us knows what's going to happen. I… I might just live to tell the tale…" she tried to reassure him, but wasn't very convincing since she had no idea what would happen if she really executed her plan—if it worked at all…

"Severus," she said softly, stepping closer to him and taking his face in her hands. "Severus, you know I love you, don't you?"

He nodded, looking deeply into her eyes. She felt as though she could fall into his eyes at this moment. They were so dark and so bright with unshed tears—Severus detested crying openly; his pride forbid it—like the deep dark ocean… "I know," he said. "And be assured that I don't just love you back—you've become my life, Sariss. Don't throw it away."

She sadly shook her head. "Oh, Severus. This is not about what you want. It's not about what I want either. This is about what must be done. There's no other way. If I don't at least try to stop him, no one will. This task is upon me alone."

Severus nodded again, silently, and bent his head in defeat. He must have realized that he could not stop her, that there was no way to keep her from doing what she simply _had_ to do…

"Severus," she whispered once more, her voice thick with unshed tears and full of fear now, and gently stroked his cheek. "You have given me some of the most miserable moments in my life. But you have also given me nearly all of my most beautiful, my happiest moments." She smiled at him, at the same time sad and happy at the memory. "You have given me your love. Of all people it had to be you, the one person I least expected to even care…" She pressed her lips against her fingertips and put them to his lips, thus making him look up at her.

"Don't do this…" he tried again.

"I must. I don't know why. I'm the last person to do something so risky and foolhardy, something that can't be prepared for, can't be controlled a hundred percent. I'm not brave; I've never been; I only do what I do because I have no choice. Look." She stretched out her hand in front of her. It was trembling badly, shaking with fear. "I am terribly scared, either way… I just _know_ that I must do this," she whispered unsteadily, a single tear slithering down her cheek.

"Sariss—," Severus began, but couldn't continue, since Sariss had already silenced him with a kiss.

She put everything in this—most likely—last kiss, all her love, all her worries and sorrow, all her desperation and longing, trying to force back the fear, that clenched her heart in an iron fist, by drowning in Severus who had his arms around her, pressing her against him as though he'd never let her go, kissing her back in the way he'd always kissed her, the way that made it even harder for her to forsake him and her own life in favour of Harry Potter and the wizarding world's survival…

After a while—and in desperate need for air—she extricated herself from his grasp and looked at him intently.

"Severus, listen closely now. Please. If this works, if I really succeed in what I intend to do—and I know that you know what it is, even if I do not say the words—it is up to you to finish him off. We cannot risk that only a part of this monster stays alive after all of this. This is the last and only chance to get rid of him."

Severus only looked at her. She could hardly bear his gaze. It made her want to take his hand and run the other way, run to a place as far away from Voldemort and the Chamber as possible, from Hogwarts and Britain… But she couldn't do that. If there were nothing else, she'd still owe it to Dumbledore without whom she wouldn't have survived this long a time. And there was this tugging feeling in her intestines, a feeling of being drawn towards the Chamber, even though her mind fervently advised against it.

**Now be strong—Just listen to me! I don't even believe it myself. How thick are you? Run! New Zealand's very nice this time of the year. Or Bora Bora… Anywhere!**

_Let's pretend we were strong?_

**You do that well, don't you? Pretend to be what you aren't?**

_What do you mean?_

**I thought you loved him?**

_I do. I still do. I never stopped._

**I thought you wanted to be with him?**

_I want to. More than anything else._

**I thought you wanted—**

_Yes. Yes. Yes. I want to be with him. I love him. I'd walk through hell for him. I'd die for him. I'd—_

**Why don't you want to live for him then?**

_I want to… I so wish I could. We've both become so dependent on each other…_

**It's going to destroy him if you die.**

_I know. But if I don't go in there now and instead walk away with him, both of us would be living on borrowed time. Voldemort would find us. It might take a few years but in the end—_

**I see. That already happened.**

_Yes. It mustn't happen again. So many things shouldn't happen again._

**Some do. Severus is going to mention your name and Lily Potter's in a single breath.**

_Stop it! Please! I must go. Don't remind me. I'm destroying Severus either way. No matter, if I stay or go. I must. Some things even love can't change._

**I can only speak for me, but if I could, I'd be shaking.**

_I am._

"And try to stay hidden." Sariss tried to apply a commanding air to her voice—and failed. It sounded more like pleading to her ears. "I can't have him startled or react on the whim of the moment, hurl curses at you—kill you even—do you understand?" Her voice was unsteady and hoarse now. "I know this is very much to ask of you. You might be sent to Azkaban for this. If I should survive this, I surely will be—." 

"I, too, will do what I must," he whispered sadly but also sincerely and raised his hand to brush aside a strand of her hair, his fingertips touching her cheek as he did so; a gesture that was so familiar, that she had gotten so used to, that it seemed to her as natural as the colour of his eyes, his voice, his scent…

She nodded tremblingly and took a deep breath, trying to calm herself enough to be able to walk in there without showing the fear that spread through her like cancer.

Slowly she raised her still slightly shaking hand once more to let her satin-gloved fingers run over his face. "Farewell, my love, although I hope it's not," she said with a sad smile and closed her eyes for a moment when he caught her hand and pressed his lips against her palm, his breath being so hot it felt as though she wore no gloves at all. Then she turned and straightened herself as she walked towards the stone doors, coming to a halt a few yards away from them.

Sariss—using Parseltongue (_finally something he gave me that is useful without being a burden…) _told the snakes to let her enter, which they did, sliding apart and disappearing into the wall on either side of the now open doorway.

_This is it. _

**The point of no return.**

_Let the power flow…_

She started walking again and, in mid-stride, she transformed and flew into the chamber, scanning her surroundings quickly in flight. She dived towards Voldemort, but before she reached him she expanded in size again until a perfectly human figure clad all in black stood just a few yards away from the Dark Lord. Voldemort stared at her for a second, then he yelled, "Seize her!"

At his command, the Death Eaters started to approach her in an attempt to restrain her before she could cause any trouble. Head held high so as to not betray her inner struggle—she would have preferred to be anywhere else but where she was, but was drawn there like a moth was drawn towards the light, knowing it would be doomed once it touched it—she raised her left hand and casually threw her wand away. 

A gesture of surrender. 

A faint clatter echoed through the chamber. 

The hooded figures that were the Death Eaters paused, surprised at what she'd done. That was all the time she needed. She quickly raised her arms on either side of her body, palms facing outwards. Something akin to electricity seemed to invade the air for a fraction of a second, leaving a prickling sensation all over her skin, her hair flying as though a light breeze had entered the chamber somehow. The Death Eaters flew backwards, crashing into the walls and the stone columns on either side of the aisle that led towards the statue of Salazar Slytherin. 

She could feel the power surge through her. Never had she let it flow deliberately like she did now. It had struggled to be released all her life. It had been pushing against the chains that defined who she was, restraining her, the pressure only easing a bit when she lost control for a second; but she had always reined it in all too quickly. 

And the Dementor wasn't quiet anymore either. She had practiced in secret, tried to figure out what she had to do to let herself be overcome by the instinct of this supposedly darkest part of her. She had learnt to be what she had at first refused, then ignored, then denied—and finally accepted. It was awake now. It was hungry. But not yet; it was not yet time to give in to what it wanted. The Dementor part of her would get what it wanted soon enough.

Suddenly she feared no more. She only felt the power and the Dementor's hunger—and the urge, almost obsession, to end it all. She let all her hatred, all her suffering nourish her thirst for revenge… She wished to kill… But not yet. Some things had to be said first. Perhaps she had inherited _his_ sense for style, after all…

"Claudo veneficium." Voldemort pointed his wand at her, and Sariss felt that tug in her intestines again that she had already felt once. "Sariss, this has been a very stupid thing to do," he drawled casually. "This time, there's no one here who could save you."

_If all goes well I won't need any magic here. If…_

"I might not need to be saved."

She turned her head slightly and glanced shortly at Harry hoping against hope he would notice her almost imperceptive nod.

The Dark Lord spoke up. Apparently, he at least had seen her nod. "The boy's not in a state to help you. He's weakened. His wand has been snapped already. He'll die as soon as I've disposed of you. But I'd like you to tell me how you found me—just to satisfy my curiosity. It's not that I couldn't spare the time, is it?" 

Sariss kept her eyes firmly on Harry whilst Voldemort spoke. 

Harry seemed to have caught on since, only a few seconds later, she saw him mouthing a spell. Nothing happened. _Please, you can do this…_ she thought, willing him to concentrate harder. If he was to be of any help he would have to be able to see properly, which meant that he needed his glasses. She could only hope that he did what was needed out of his own accord since she couldn't tell him what to do, not now when her mind was in turmoil, when everything could go to pieces any second.

**Never before in history has a plan been devised that has so many flaws and could go wrong in so many ways, one more terrible than the other…**

Finally, out of a corner of her eyes, she saw his glasses soar into his outstretched hand and him putting them on.

She shifted her gaze back to the Dark Lord, allowed the hint of a smile to cross her face, and began to take off her gloves—deliberately slowly, to buy Harry some more time, and just to make her father nervous of what was to come. She could tell from his expression that he was slightly puzzled, yet curious—and foolish—enough not to just try and curse her—yet. After all, there was only one curse that harmed her by locking up her magic inside her, and he had already used it. Now that she was only a few yards away from him, he couldn't seriously harm her. Perhaps, if he were to use those Tormenting curses again… Yet, she only had to get her hands on him… Had he threatened her with one of those deceitfully harmless looking Muggle weapons, she would have had to be highly careful, but the way it was now she might stand a chance… 

"Perhaps you failed to take into account my… hidden assets," she said and showed him the scar on her palm. Finally, she caught on on what he had meant when he had said that he wouldn't let her mess up his plans: He had remembered her. From the night of his first fall. From Godric's Hollow, where she had been. He had wanted to prevent her from going back in time to 'mess up his plans'… Everything fit. The puzzle was complete. 

"Some things can't be changed," she sneered, and then harshly added, "Others can."

She started walking and stopped only a few feet away from Voldemort. And then she raised her arms, holding them in a position as though she wanted to offer an embrace. 

"Father," she said softly…

**Next chapter:**

Sariss gets all lethal, Harry is impressed, Snape's first practical, then distraught, then tearful and desperate. And Dumbledore thinks about what to do.


	33. The Kin Slayer

**Author's note: Thanks so much, Miriam and Ally! *huggles***

Chapter 32: The Kin Slayer

**_"Facing this unbearable fear like meeting an old friend."  
"Time to die, poor mates._****_ You made me what I am!"_**

—_Nightwish__: The Kin Slayer_

Now that Harry could see clearly again, it seemed he could also think more clearly than before again. All of a sudden, it came to him. He realized why Professor Ravon had thrown her wand away—for him! Although he could do wandless magic to a certain extent, under circumstances like these he had a hard time concentrating on what he wanted to happen. With a wand however…

He concentrated again. "Accio, wand!" he whispered almost inaudibly. It soared through the air and landed in his outstretched hand and, in a fluent motion, Harry immediately pointed the wand at the Dark Lord, who had started on another incantation, and yelled "Expelliarmus!" Voldemort had obviously not been prepared for this since he was totally taken by surprise. He didn't say anything; he seemed at a loss for words—in a state of shock and denial at what was happening as the wand that had killed Lily and James Potter flew towards the boy it couldn't kill almost seventeen years ago.

Harry, in turn, was taken by surprise at how well the wand worked—not without a twitch but nonetheless—being not his but Professor Ravon's… 

Harry shifted his gaze to look at Professor Ravon. He saw her throw a small smile in his direction, apparently breathing a sigh of relief as she closed her eyes for a second or two. Then she took a deep breath as though she wanted to steel herself for something and looked at the Dark Lord again, starting to approach him slowly. And as slow and graceful as her movements were, Harry could not get rid of the little voice echoing in the back of his head that seemed to scream out at him, _Danger! Fear me now! Run as long as you still can…_ She emanated an aura of power Harry had felt coming from Dumbledore several times, powerful magic—although at the moment, she couldn't use it—so powerful it must strike anyone facing her with fear… But Harry stayed there, knowing that this was not directed at him. He watched his Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher intently.

Professor Ravon now stood still, only a few feet away from the Dark Lord, and looked at her father, slightly tilting her head to the side raising her eyebrows slightly. 

"What's wrong, father?" she said in a voice that sounded incredibly sweet and seducing. Then the tone of her voice hardened; and she hissed, "Don't you want to _kiss_ your loving daughter?" 

The way she'd said _the_ _word_ more than implied what she was going to do. As soon as she'd finished the sentence she advanced on him, crossing the distance between them in an elegant motion, that seemed as though she had Disapparated and Apparated even closer to Voldemort again, grabbing his throat with one of her hands while she snaked her other hand to the back of his neck. The Dark Lord was struggling against her, trying to push her away—Harry could see the muscles in the Dark Lord's arms tense; he was very strong—but he had no chance against his creation. Harry realized how strong Voldemort had made her; in creating his most powerful ally, he'd created his most feared enemy. Death hidden in Beauty, not in the Beast. Voldemort opened his mouth to say something, to scream perhaps—he might even just have been gasping for air—Harry couldn't tell—but no sound came out of the Dark Lord's throat.

"Taste the death you devised for your enemies," Professor Ravon said harshly, raising herself onto the tips of her toes and bringing her mouth close to the Dark Lord's face. His red eyes widening in horror, he tried to struggle against the grip she had on his throat and neck, but she didn't budge a quarter of an inch; she had him in a death grip—literally.

Harry knew instinctively what she was going to do; only imagining it made him want to scream and run away. But he couldn't move; he could only stare at them; a part of him wanted to see this, and he did not avert his eyes as she covered Voldemort's mouth with hers.

At first, Harry thought that nothing happened. After a few seconds, however, he heard what he always heard when he got near a Dementor, the voices of his parents, but they were only very faint. And Harry didn't feel dizzy. Didn't it work? Couldn't she do it after all?

But there it came, barely audible at first, but growing louder steadily. A sound Harry knew from first-hand experience: the rattling breath of the Dementor. A few years ago he had been almost as close to the Dementor's Kiss as Voldemort was now, but Harry had survived with a little help from his a few hours future self. He remembered it clearly. The Dark Lord, however, would not be saved; Harry knew this as well as his name and date of birth.

Horrible, sucking noises could be heard now; they sounded as though someone couldn't breathe properly, almost as though a person fearing to drown gasped for air; but after a short time the sounds Harry could hear weren't those characteristic short gasps anymore. They were long, as though someone were inhaling deeply, the rattling sounds accompanying them.

To Harry it seemed that Voldemort tried to scream as her hands left his throat and neck—only to clasp themselves to his face as if of their own accord, her fingernails digging deep into the greyish skin, drawing blood, black blood. The Dark Lord's yells were muffled by her mouth covering his.

It was an appalling yet fascinating sight. A sight of horrible beauty. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion…

**~*~*~**

Forlornly, Severus watched her walk towards the doors, heard her hiss something, most likely to the snakes, telling them to open up. His hair stood on end when she did that. The sound of Parseltongue made him shudder, no matter who spoke it. And the snakes drew back and allowed the door to open. Sariss transformed into the black bird Severus had already seen once—and he suddenly realized that she was by no means a raven; she was a crow, the bird that supposedly guided the souls of the dead into the after-world…

He followed her as far as he could without being seen. Sariss spread her arms in a very quick and abrupt motion and the present Death Eaters, who Severus knew were Amanita and Armand Lestrange, Nott, Avery—and the two Malfoys—were thrown backwards into the wall or against the snake-shaped pillars. 

The Potions master felt a twinge of pity at the sight of Draco Malfoy; a boy who had had so much potential, yet had followed in his father's footsteps just like he himself had done once; but he'd known when to stand against the beliefs—no, fanaticism—of his family; there had come a point when it had been enough, when he couldn't do as was expected any longer. 

Till this day he could not tell at which occasion exactly it had happened—perhaps it had accumulated over the years, a bit more every time he committed a crime that he'd now rather make undone—reaching its height when Lily chose James Potter over him. Maybe that was so, maybe not. Fact was that, at some point, he had realized that it was not a game.

All of a sudden, it had been there—a feeling of guilt and hatred, for once not directed at the world outside but at himself, at what he had become… 

Severus still didn't know for sure what had been the trigger. And now it didn't matter anymore.

However, he doubted Draco would ever find a way back out of Darkness; it was in his blood; the Malfoy blood had harboured Evil for centuries. Hungry for wealth and power the Malfoys had always had a tendency towards the Dark Arts… 

And now it was too late for him anyway.

As soon as Sariss had slammed the Death Eaters into the walls, knocking them out quite indubitably, Severus had started to inch closer, creeping from one pillar to hide behind the next—watching closely what happened, what she was doing. She was radiating power now. He could feel it, almost see it, almost touch it. The air was thick with magic—although Voldemort had used the spell again. The spell that made her incapable of performing magic. He threatened her; she didn't answer to his taunts; she only stood there for a couple of moments.

A part of him knew what she'd do; the other part was in denial. He didn't want her to do this. He had told her that she was most likely digging her own grave by doing this. And he'd also told her that he didn't want to lose her. He still didn't. 

But it was also perfectly clear to him that she knew all of this pretty well herself. The way she'd kissed him before she'd opened the giant stone doors would have confirmed it if he hadn't known already. Her kiss had been so full of emotions—love, passion, longing, pain, desperation, fear—and the knowledge that she was most likely going to die tonight. He would never forget it. Another memory to haunt him. Every night after tonight, in his dreams, she would kiss him like that and then go and die. The image was too real, all too lively… Severus tried to shake those thoughts off.

Instead, he tried to focus on what was happening.

He watched her walk towards Voldemort. The Potter boy summoned a wand from somewhere and disarmed the Dark Lord—whom Severus couldn't see as Sariss was standing in his line of sight—his wand soaring towards the boy's outstretched hand just as the wand's owner had started on an incantation that would have inflicted excruciating pain on Sariss as it had already happened once. (Severus still shuddered at the thought of it.) The boy caught Voldemort's wand deftly; then he didn't move anymore, he stood completely frozen, a look of terror on his face.

Severus heard a whisper. He assumed Sariss had said something to her father. A last farewell, perhaps. And then he heard it. He'd never have thought it would sound this horrible. He suddenly knew what kind of nightmares Sirius Black's dreams must consist of: the rattling breath of the Dementor and the sucking sounds of its Kiss…

Yet, this was no Dementor. This was Sariss. _His_ Sariss. The woman he had held, kissed, made love to. The woman he'd held in his arms as she'd buried her face in his robes, crying as though there was no tomorrow; kissing him likewise. Who would have guessed from throwing a single glance at her that behind all this superficial reserve and diffidence was such a lonely soul, so desperately in need of someone to hold on to. They were so much alike…

Severus stepped closer. Now he could see clearly, what she was doing. She had her mouth clasped over the mouth of her father who was trying to struggle valiantly but couldn't get out of the death grip she had on his face, digging her sharp fingernails deep into his flesh, drawing blood that ran over her white skin in thin black rivulets. A deadly embrace… And that when to Severus her embraces were like life made solid, tangible.

_He must have realized by now that he made her too strong. He could never have controlled her—even if she had decided to join him, to give in to Darkness_, Snape thought. _She's lethal. _

And being captured and tortured by Voldemort, her father, had given her more than a good reason to not just hate him but to devise a plan to kill him exactly the way he had intended to use her to kill his enemies. Voldemort had set the foundations that would lead to his ultimate downfall when he had tortured her. _People who got hurt are dangerous. They know they can survive…_

Another one of those sucking intakes of breath. Severus shuddered involuntarily. He couldn't look away, couldn't move; he was enthralled by the sight of the Angel of Death. Or Justice. Or Revenge—it didn't really matter what it was—since the horrible sight he beheld was one of the beauty of destruction; a horrible beauty that was nonetheless breathtaking. Only the sound of the Dark Lord's soul being sucked out was disgusting. Now it sounded as though the Dark Lord wanted to suck it back into himself, but those were only the noises of someone in desperate need of air.

The Dark Lord stopped struggling. His slitted red eyes flickered and became blank and dull as though a candle were blown out. Sariss let go of him, stumbled a few steps backwards, then dropped to the floor almost without a sound, little tremors running through her body.

At that moment, Severus's instincts took over completely. A promise had to be fulfilled. He brandished his wand and aimed a curse at the shell that had once been the most feared Dark wizard of modern times—the Embodiment of soulless Evil. "Avada Kedavra!" he called out, putting all his pain and hatred into those two simple words, willing the curse to hit forcefully and hard, willing it to destroy the thing that was left of the most feared wizard of the century—and in that very instant, Severus knew he would never use this curse again. He vowed to never use it again, for Sariss's sake, as a tribute to her sacrifice, to their love.

The all-too-familiar flash of bright green light was hurtling towards Voldemort, hitting him straight into the chest. A hissing sound escaped the empty shell's mouth and it fell to the ground with a dull thudding noise, right next to Sariss, its blood leaving little black stains as a few droplets fell to the grey stone floor. This time both the Dark Lord's body and soul would be gone.

Reality kicked back in. Severus was shocked at what he'd just done. He had thought he'd never do this again—but had he really _thought_ a few seconds ago? Not really, he had to admit. In a way, he'd just acted on an impulse; it had been an emotional choice, something he normally tried to avoid at all costs. Well, at least he used to. And thus he had done exactly what Sariss had asked him to do not even a quarter of an hour before that. All of a sudden, it seemed so long ago…

Harry Potter had run towards Sariss as soon as Voldemort had dropped to the ground and had almost managed to catch her before she fell. Almost. The boy had pulled her into his lap and was now speaking to her so softly that Severus could only make out a murmur echoing from the walls within the chamber, but his face looked frantic as far as the Potions master could see from where he stood, still frozen.

Sariss weakly lifted her hand and touched the boy's forehead for a moment before losing consciousness (Severus could only hope it was that way), her arm hitting the ground soundlessly. Potter winced and rubbed his scar for a second.

He was checking her pulse the moment Severus finally found the control over his body again and rushed to his and Sariss's side.

"You alright, Harry?" Snape croaked, lowering himself to the floor next to them.

**~*~*~**

"Professor, don't. Please," Harry whispered. Ravon was trembling as though she had a fit or something like that. Her eyelids were fluttering. "Everything's going to be fine, do you understand?"

"Well done," she forced out after a second's hesitation, slowly opening her emerald green eyes. They seemed to glow; so white was Professor Ravon's face. She lifted her hand to Harry's forehead, reaching for his scar. When her palm—_the scar on her palm…—_met his scar; it felt as though a pressure he hadn't even been aware of were taken from him, ripped out of him, but not by force. It felt as though something left him out of its own volition, as though it returned to its rightful owner… A very strange feeling, similar to the feeling he got when he touched a Portkey, but this time it hadn't tugged behind his navel; her scar had kind of tugged on his scar, faintly but clearly recognizable.

It didn't hurt; it merely twitched really badly. Harry winced a bit and rubbed over it as soon as Professor Ravon's hand had dropped again.

_Dropped?_

"Professor?" Harry asked softly, brushing her hair aside so he could check her pulse, pressing two fingers against the bluish vein on her throat. Her heart was still beating, although she hardly seemed to breathe. But she was. Her breath stirred a few rebel hairs of hers.

Approaching footsteps and a rustle of robes indicated that Snape was rushing towards them.

"You alright, Harry?" Harry heard him say.

Harry nodded, still rubbing his scar. It was still itching really badly ever since Professor Ravon had touched his forehead there. 

_Her scar touched mine. What did it do? _

However, Harry forgot the prickling immediately as soon as his brain had processed the information that Snape had just called him 'Harry.' Something he'd never done before. 

_He's getting soft_, Harry thought for a moment. But then the thought crept into his mind what he would do if this were Ginny lying here, in the Chamber, once again, seemingly dead or very close to being it—and Harry realized that he actually felt for Snape… _And I'm getting soft, too._

As Snape took Professor Ravon from him so very gently as though he would break her and was gathering her ghastly pale unconscious form in his lap to check her pulse for himself and determine if she still breathed, if she was alive at all, Harry was almost shocked at the multitude of different emotions he saw flicker about Severus Snape's face in quick succession. He wouldn't have thought it possible a few weeks ago—not even a few _hours_ ago—that Snape was capable of so much more than sneering and glaring at the world around him. Yet here he was; acting so unlike the Snape Harry knew, that he idly wondered what had happened to the _real_ Professor Snape, Potions master at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. 

_Professor Ravon has happened to him_, Harry guessed, being in fact sure that this was far more than just a guess.

Snape smoothed Professor Ravon's hair out of her face. She didn't look very much alive to Harry and she had been so very cold when Harry had touched her a minute or so ago. Not that that would have been an indication as to whether she lived or was already dead in the case of Sariss Ravon. She'd always been cold. Harry could only hope that this was not a sign that she would…

No, he wouldn't think about this now. _Think practical. If Snape can't, you must_, Harry told himself.

"We need to make sure the Death Eaters won't escape while we go get help," Harry said.

Snape looked up at him. No sneer, no snide remark, only, "Right, take their wands," he said. "And make sure they can't escape. The spell is 'Consopio in lethargum.' Very simple, actually. It'll render them more helpless than the Stunning Spell…" he trailed off, returning his gaze and concentration to Professor Ravon who had started twitching, her breath coming in shallow wheezes. 

"Don't die on me. Don't you dare."

A greenish mist started emanating from between her slightly parted bloodless lips and nose at every breath she took and exhaled. It was disgusting to look at but it was completely without any smell as though it were an illusion. 

Its colour was slowly growing darker, dirtier. It was now like some sort of a greyish-green smoke…

_Well, at least she's alive._

As Harry hurried to send the Death Eaters into a very, very deep sleep, he noticed that he still had Professor Ravon's wand. He pocketed it safely inside his torn and bloody robes. Then he took care of the Death Eaters, starting with Draco Malfoy and his father… 

_Looks like payday today. You, too, will get what you deserve…_

Harry suddenly realized that it was not his wand he'd just used but Voldemort's. Yet, it felt so much like his own wand that the spells worked without a twitch or any effort. It was as though he had his _own_ wand. 

_They were brothers, after all, _he thought. _And it is not the wand that is evil; it is the wizard that uses it for evil. So why not use it for something just?_

Harry tried not to look at Voldemort's body as he rushed past it to the other side of the chamber and sent the other still unconscious forms into a state of blessed oblivion—at least for the time being.

Then he turned and looked at the two Professors again. Snape had gathered Ravon up into his arms, where she lay limply, but unmistakably alive, as every breath she took was clearly visible.

**~*~*~**

"…'Consopio in lethargum.' Very simple, actually. It'll render them more helpless than the Stunning Spell…" he trailed off, his concentration drawn back to the unconscious form in his lap. Sariss had stirred; she was convulsing now, her eyelids fluttering again, her breath coming in painfully small laboured gasps and moans, a grey-green smoke emanating from her every time she exhaled.

"Don't die on me. Don't you dare."

_At least that way I can tell that she's still alive…_

"Fight, Sariss, don't leave me," Severus whispered as he carefully picked her up and cradled her in his arms, trying not to let her head fall back. Strange how even now the thought appeared in his mind that she'd get a hell of a headache when she woke up if her head were to fall back now. 

**A headache will be the smallest one of her problems—if she wakes up at all…**

The Potter boy had taken care of the Death Eaters. Very good, Severus registered absent-mindedly as he nodded at him and made his way out of the chamber; the boy followed at his heels; Sariss choked and moaned again, her body twitching, but other than that there were no signs of her waking up or being alive.

In silence they walked through the tunnel, past the cave-in, past the shed Basilisk skin, over the cracking animal bones, until they arrived at the entrance of the pipe that led up to the second floor bathroom.

Sariss had stopped convulsing, she was perfectly still now (a fact that made it much easier a task for Severus to carry her); only the greenish mist indicated that she was alive at all.

"How are we going to get up there?" asked Harry.

"I thought you've been here before."

"Well, I have. But it was Fawkes, you know—Dumbledore's pet phoenix—who pulled us up the pipe…"

"Perfect. Just perfect!" Snape muttered and laid Sariss gently to the floor, pressing two fingers to her throat to check her pulse once again. It was racing now. He could almost see her distinctly visible rope-like blue veins rock with every heartbeat that forced blood through them. Never before had she looked more like a porcelain doll as she did now…

Severus drew her back into the position that made it easiest for him to lift her up—

_What now? Calling Fawkes is not an option. Too small a bird. Burning day._

**Apparation**** isn't an option either. You can't Apparate or Disapparate—**

"The Portkey…" he whispered and began searching his robes. He had never stopped carrying it with him because it had been almost a part of him for such long a time. 'When discovered, use the Portkey. Don't ever forget to take it with you. Not just _your_ life could depend on it one day.' Those had been exactly Dumbledore's words—and they had already proved true once—and now…

Snape found the Portkey; it was wrapped in the usual handkerchief-sized piece of dark-green velvet. He set it on the floor and turned to Harry. "Since you have already travelled by Portkey, I see no reason for further delay."

Severus took a firm hold on Sariss and nodded to Harry whose hand already hovered in close proximity of the small orb.

"Now," he said and touched the Portkey.

**~*~*~**

Harry was impressed how smoothly Snape managed to steer around a mention of Cedric Diggory and what had happened at the Triwizard Tournament. Could it be—despite everything—that Snape was actually being empathic? Compassionate? That this was what Professor Ravon must have seen in him so she could… _love_ him? The word still sounded awkward when mentioned in the same sentence with 'Snape'… 

Or was he just being practical?

Harry had already lowered himself to the floor, ready to touch the Portkey, his finger hovering only inches away from it. Snape gathered Professor Ravon's unconscious form in his lap and mimicked Harry's gesture. He looked up and said, "Now!"

Harry felt the familiar tug behind his navel and was drawn through space. Everything around him was blurry; blotches of different colours were swirling past him. And then he found himself on the floor of the infirmary.

Snape picked Ravon up again and carried her towards a bed, gently laying her down. "Madam Pomfrey!" he yelled. "Madam Pomfrey, we need some help here!"

Harry walked over to them and took a close look. Professor Ravon's breathing was shallow; she was still exhaling this smoky mist, now much more clearly visible than down in the tunnel. The mist hovered for a second or two before it dissolved without a trace. It was now far more greyish than greenish, actually there was hardly anything left that could remotely be called green.

Madam Pomfrey rushed into the room, her expression indicating that she almost had a heart attack when her eyes fell onto Snape and Ravon.

"Déjà-vu," she whispered, bustling to Professor Ravon's side and starting to examine her. "What's happened this time?"

"You know what she is, don't you?"

Madam Pomfrey's gaze flickered over to Harry and looked him up and down for a second. He nodded to indicate that he was—considering what had happened—quite all right. "Yes, of course…" the nurse said. "You mean, she—"

"Yes, she sucked his soul out," Snape said it frankly. No use to describe it carefully steering around such unpleasant formulations. Harry, too, couldn't bear to hear any euphemisms now, not when everybody—including himself—clearly saw the graveness of the situation. "My guess is that this is what causes this… this dirty-green colour of her breath."

Madam Pomfrey agreed, checking Ravon's pulse just like Snape had done earlier.

"Severus, get the headmaster! You should be able to find him on top of the Astronomy tower; he's still surveying the attack on the wards."

Snape nodded, smoothing Ravon's hair back and touching her cheek with his fingertips before rushing through the doorway and out of sight.

"Goodness, Potter!" she exclaimed. "Don't just stand there. You had better lie down, too. Don't get me wrong but you'll just have to wait until I've taken care of her. She's obviously got the worse end of the bargain."

"How is she, Madam Pomfrey?" Harry said softly. He didn't dare to raise his voice any more than barely above a whisper.

"Honestly, Potter, I can't tell yet. From the outside, she looks a bit pale but otherwise fine. What worries me is this Dementor business," Madam Pomfrey replied. "What was the girl thinking?" she muttered to herself.

Harry carefully set Professor Ravon's wand on the bedside table. "She saved my life, Madam Pomfrey," he said hoarsely. _For the second time._

"Lay down, boy, there's nothing you can do. You're not well yourself. Once the adrenaline wears off you'll feel how exhausted you are. Just look at yourself. The only person I've ever seen being worse off than you are now is Sariss here, but you know that already," she said, bustling here and there, getting bowls and bottles and phials of every shape and colour. "Now if you'd stand back and rest, please?" she added, summoning some screens to shield the Professor's bed from view.

Harry didn't answer but did as she had requested. And sure enough, as he climbed into the bed, not drawing the covers over himself, rested his head on a very plushy pillow and stared at the ceiling, he began to realize that his whole body, that he had thought felt perfectly normal, had in fact been numb from the pain and shock. Now it started tingling and stinging. He tried not to think about it. A little pain wasn't important when only a few yards away from him a fight against death was being fought…

**~*~*~**

Severus came rushing through the doorway that opened towards the staircase that led down from the Astronomy Tower, his robes billowing, his hair flying, an expression of pure unadulterated panic on his face.

"Headmaster," he gasped, out of breath, "you must come with me. Quick. I'll explain on the way."

"Severus, the attack—." Dumbledore indicated the Dark Lord's army that was clearly visible through the Binocular charm he had cast on two sides of the tower. "Ah! There comes Hagrid with the giants…"

"It's not important anymore. He's dead and she's probably on the verge of following him." Severus's voice was full of panic; Dumbledore had never seen him in such a state—and he had seen him in quite a few different states of distress already. Thus, he hurried alongside him after he had extricated his sleeve from Severus's grasp.

"She did what you wanted her to do, right? You knew that this goddamned prophecy was referring exactly to her… _condition_, didn't you?" the Potions master asked, although it was not really a question, a furious yet worried tone underlying his words.

"Severus, I…" Dumbledore began, having to jog lightly because the Potions master, frantic as he was, was walking too fast for him to keep up normally. "Yes." He couldn't deny that he had known that this was exactly what had had to be done; and she had done it. Without him prompting her to do it even. She had known it herself. He had hoped she would make the prophecy come true, but didn't want to endanger her life—when he didn't know the outcome. He had even begged her not to do it. He could still hear her answer when they had spoken about it—no, not directly, as neither one of them had spoken out loud what had been on their minds. 

_There are some things even love can't change. _

Those had been her words—or something similar, although Dumbledore was quite sure that those were precisely the words she'd said.

"Yes, I knew it," he admitted. "Once the riddles about her were solved I gradually realized the meaning of all of this, the full extent of what this could mean for us."

"You used her." Severus sounded bitter and disappointed.

"I wouldn't put it this way, Severus. In a way…" Dumbledore admitted. "But you must keep in mind that I never asked her to do this."

"Is she dying?"

"I don't know. If I remember correctly, the prophecy said, '_Death shan't be conquered, past Evil shall be made undone_.' We can only hope the first part of this refers to Voldemort only."

"Then what is this 'past Evil'?"

"That, I do not know. However, to me it seems that it means that something good is going to happen. It sounds rather positive, don't you think?" _I so wish it was meant this way._

Severus shook his head. "At the moment I can't seem to think at all. This has been simply too much. I only wish I'd wake up any moment…"

"Where is he, Severus?"

"Can't you guess? The Chamber." He didn't have to explain which chamber. It was fairly obvious.

Dumbledore merely nodded, although the Potions master wasn't looking at him.

They had reached the infirmary by now. The door was slightly ajar. Severus must have forgotten to close it properly. And from inside, one could hear the unmistakable sounds of a struggle…

Dumbledore exchanged a look with Severus who all but threw the door open and rushed inside, as it had become a habit of his when entering a classroom. Yet, this time, it was not for show or attention, this time it was simply because it was the fastest way to get to the person who needed him most now—and whom he needed more than anything in the world. The headmaster knew this. Severus had changed so much for the better during the last few months… It had been right to encourage him, to gently push him towards Sariss—and her towards him. 

The night the Potters died, he had encountered the grown-up Sariss and had known that she was exactly what the bitter and apparently cold Potions master needed to live again, and he had done his best to take care of Severus as well as the little girl to make the future happen as it had obviously been intended to be. He had succeeded, at least to the point they were now at.

What would he do if Sariss were to die now? What would become of Severus who had begun to draw hope and life and love from her, being happy for the sole reason that she had stopped pushing him away and instead had revealed her innermost self to him? She must have done this, Dumbledore was sure about that. She'd let the mask of calm that she always wore slip. No one could be living like that forever, appearing to be logical and quiet and even happy sometimes, when she clearly wasn't. Dumbledore had seen her at her worst, years ago. And apparently, so had Severus only most recently. She must have let the mask slip… If she hadn't, Severus wouldn't have been so gentle and careful with her. 

To a certain amount, the kidnapping and torture would have made him treat her with care and gentleness, but not to such a great extent. Severus hadn't only experienced her physical vulnerability that she'd always tried to hide; he had also seen her mental and emotional instability, the need to hold on to someone—something else she'd always tried not to—especially when she'd started on preparing for the final battle. 

She had made her days almost twice as long as they were, hardly sleeping, wasting no precious time. She'd spent very much time with Severus; she'd also prepared her lessons whenever Dumbledore had entered her office for a little chat or headmaster business. She had been living two—no, actually three days in one recently… One for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, one for Severus, one for her revenge on the Dark Lord…

Had she sensed that it would be so soon? And that when she'd never believed in Divination.

But she mustn't die. Dumbledore loved her. Severus needed her desperately, with all his being. It seemed that she alone made his heart beat.

Not even the smallest gestures had escaped the old headmaster, a look, a touch in passing, seemingly accidental, a word, a gesture, meaningless to anyone who didn't know what it really meant, who didn't pay attention… A way of communication only lovers could create and understand.

If she were to die now, Severus would blame himself because he hadn't stopped her; but he'd also blame Dumbledore for her death; he had already implied this by accusing him of using her—and, gods help him, Dumbledore _had_ used her—with the best of intentions—and she had willingly sacrificed herself without him prompting her to do it.

Or perhaps not that willingly after all… Prophecies tended to be self-fulfilling. It had been her destiny.

Revenge. Revenge had been the air she breathed. It kept her alive. Now that she'd fulfilled her destiny…

What if now it was her destiny to die, to become a martyr? 

The Heiress of Slytherin (and Ravenclaw); dying as she saved the Heir of Gryffindor… What an irony that would be…

**~*~*~**

The first thing, Severus perceived on entering, were Madam Pomfrey's frantic attempts at restraining a struggling and thrashing Sariss. Harry Potter, who was also in a state far from healthy, bravely tried to assist her.

"Severus," Dumbledore said, inclining his head towards the screens behind which one could see the silhouettes of the present people.

Severus pushed the screens aside and took hold of one of Sariss's arms, trying to push her into the pillows as gently yet firmly as he could. "What's going on?" he asked, fighting back tears of panic as he looked at her ashen face, her parchment-dry, equally ashen lips, the veins—in all shades of blue and violet—clearly visible through the skin of her face and throat. Translucent. Like a ghost. He thought he could see right through her, right into the core of her soul, if only he strained his eyes hard enough… 

"I have no idea. She's fighting. I tried to give her a Calming Potion to let her sleep peacefully—I don't know what else to do—and when I tried to pour it into her mouth this happened. She refuses to open her mouth, to even let it come near her lips. I don't know why. I don't even know if she knows what she's doing." Her voice was full of panic as were her eyes as she looked up to face the headmaster. "I'm completely at a loss, Albus," she sighed, desperate, defeated, as she—now that her hands were free at last—cast a spell that caused bonds to wrap around Sariss's ankles and wrists to keep her from struggling. "There's nothing I can do. I decided not to try and give her another potion as long as she is in this state of whatever evil she's fighting now. If anything changes, I'll try again—not that it would change anything… Perhaps some undiluted Phoenix tears…"

Dumbledore shook his head. "I'm afraid this won't be possible. Fawkes has had his burning day the day before yesterday. He's no more than a fledgling. Hardly powerful enough to cry nearly as many tears as we would need to even see something happen—if it would help at all… she's not wounded, not physically… But I'll call him. Perhaps his song will strengthen her…"

He did so and a very small Fawkes appeared seemingly out of nowhere. The bird already had its red and golden tail feathers, yet they were very short still. The rest of his feathers were grey except for the tips of his wings, which were of a coppery red. He settled on the foot end of the bed and started to sing very softly. A soft and mournful tune, that tore at Severus's heart.

"Now we can only wait and hope," Dumbledore whispered and comfortingly laid a hand on the Potions master's shoulder. It didn't serve its purpose very well. He was beyond consolation. He had already passed into a state that could very well be compared to the one you pass into when your loved one has already passed on. It was impossible to even dare hope she'd survive. Things like this simply didn't happen when they concerned Severus Snape. 

He should have known. Right from the beginning, he should have known that she was too good to be true, that whatever there would be between them, whatever he would have with her… It would end up in tears.

Past Evil shall be made undone. How pathetic. Why make past Evil undone? What about the present Evil? The Evil that threatened to take her away from him forever, leaving him behind with a part of his soul, that she had revived in him missing, and then, when the soul had almost been whole again, it would be ripped out of him again. She'd take it with her and it wasn't even necessary that she _Kiss_ him for it. It would follow her. Gladly. Because she was his soul, his heart, his life, his very essence of being. She defined who he was. He wouldn't be able to go on without her…

Had anybody told him a year or so ago that those thoughts—and in such intensity—would roam through his mind one day, he would have sneered at the respective person and snapped at him or her to shut up with all this nonsense. A life simply didn't depend on another person's love; it was downright impossible, idealistic, sappy, head-in-the-clouds, romantic nonsense—or so he had thought once…

But then she had come and turned his world upside down even though it had clearly been the last thing she'd intended to do. The untamed shrew had become his little wench, his nymph, the air that he breathed.

If he lost her, he'd lose himself with her, he was sure about this. Strange how a life without her seemed unthinkable now… She must not die. He wouldn't allow it. If any Gods existed somewhere or another similar Divine Power called Fate or Destiny, they simply had to interfere to not let this happen.

_The alternative is unthinkable._

Severus felt a tear trickle down his cheek as he chanced looks at the assembled people. All of them wore similar expressions of worry and sadness. Madam Pomfrey had tears in her eyes just like Dumbledore. Harry Potter had averted his face, his messy, untidy hair obscuring his eyes. The boy must be crying, too. Well, he was hardly a boy anymore. When Severus had been his age, he'd already lost himself in Darkness—and the light that had been shining brightest for him was now dreading to cease and die, never to be lighted again…

Severus felt another tear slither down his face, as he looked at Sariss again. She had stopped struggling, her wrist and ankles now lay limply in the glowing magical bonds. She didn't even move. Only her chest heaved almost imperceptibly… 

However, his sigh of relief stuck in his throat as another shudder raced through her body all of a sudden, without warning, the bonds were barely restraining her…

He didn't even bother to wipe away his tears anymore. It didn't matter who saw them. He was beyond caring about trivialities such as his pride or the illusion of dignity. There was nothing to be gained by appearing cool, calm and collected when in fact he wasn't. Nothing mattered anymore but one thing. And once again the one thing, the one person, Sariss, was lying in a hospital bed, this time restrained by magical bonds so as not to thrash about too wildly, her body writhing and convulsing as she fought against something none of the people who were present could even fathom.

Severus tried to push her shoulders into the pillows, quite in vain.

"Come with me, Mr Potter. You need to be attended to now. There's nothing we can do here for the time being," Severus heard Madam Pomfrey say, as he dropped into a chair Dumbledore must have Summoned near, rested his elbows on the mattress and buried his face in his hands.

For the first time in perhaps decades, Severus Snape wept.

Bitterly. Soundlessly.

Desperate.

Dumbledore patted Severus's shoulder once again before retreating steps and the click of a shutting door indicated that he had left. After all, they were still under attack—and Severus didn't even care. 

_Let them come._

He rested his head on his arms, one of his hands frantically clutching one of Sariss's shuddering and tense ones.

After a while, physically and mentally exhausted, he had cried himself to a deep, dark, thankfully dreamless, sleep…

**Next chapter:**

Harry's sorry for Snape and worried about Sariss. Severus refuses to leave her side, finds a note and refuses to lose hope. Harry is part of a little assembly in Dumbledore's office. Aurors, Fudge, Sirius and the exam results.


	34. Close My Eyes

**Author's note: Thankies to Ally and Miriam, my most loyal reviewers… My only ones at present… *sniffles***

Chapter 33: Close My Eyes****

**_I'm waiting for the sun;   
I'm waiting for a new day  
I'm waiting for the night  
To close my eyes  
I'm waiting for the dark  
Oh, it's gonna be harder without you  
The way we danced, I'll always miss  
I'll never forget the way we kissed  
The time stood still; the time was flying  
I wonder why I'm not dying_**

_—Roxette: Waiting for the Rain_

"Hi, Harry. How are you?" Ginny asked, sitting down on the bed Harry was lying in and giving him a tentative hug and kiss.

"Oi, mate. You always get yourself in trouble, don't you?"

"The trouble usually finds me—and it did again," Harry said softly.

"How are you feeling?" Hermione asked then.

"I'm fine," Harry said. "A bit sore, but nothing serious. Madam Pomfrey fixed me up quite fine. I'm not the one to worry about." He indicated the screens around Professor Ravon's bed. "It's Professor Ravon. Be quiet. Snape is with her. Look."

There was a narrow gap through which Harry could see Professors Ravon and Snape.

Snape was holding her hand. Even though Harry only saw his profile, he could tell his expression, and suddenly realized that he had seen Snape cry the day before. Severus Snape, Ex-Death Eater, sneering, cruel and thus very much disliked Potions master, had actually cried.

And if Harry strained his ears, he could even make out Snape's voice, soft and low, as he whispered to Professor Ravon, from time to time lifting her hand to blow on it and rub it to make it warmer, sometimes kissing it. He was completely unaware that he was being watched. Maybe he wouldn't even have cared if he had known.

"Why, Sariss? Why?" he whispered. It didn't sound in the least reproachful, only sad. "There must have been another way… I should have found it…"

"What happened to her?" Ginny asked very, very softly.

"Yes, what happened after you dashed off as though a Manticore was chasing you?" Ron joined in.

"Malfoy happened. Haven't you heard?"

"The Ministry won't let anyone in on it. Dumbledore's silent, too. So are the other Professors, and they must know something. So you're the only one who could fill us in," Hermione explained.

Thus, Harry reported in a hushed voice what had happened in the Chamber of Secrets. Ginny blanched slightly at the mentioning of that particular location and muffled a small scream.

He told them how Malfoy had forced him to open the sink in Myrtle's bathroom, how Voldemort had spoken to him, tortured him, the elusive voice that had somehow calmed him and told him it would be alright if only he'd concentrate—or at least so Harry remembered it. And then how the Dark Lord had been right about to cast the Killing curse, when Professor Ravon had appeared. Deus ex machina—or rather _Dea_ ex machina. How she had the Death Eaters out cold, how the Dark Lord had prevented her from doing any further magic, how Harry had disarmed him with Ravon's wand. And then—the _Kiss_ and its aftermath…

"And then the strangest thing happened… Snape looked at me and for once in his life he wasn't sneering at me at all. And he called me Harry…"

He finished his recount of events with some of what had happened after the Portkey had taken the three of them into the infirmary. Then Harry fell silent again. Three shocked, amazed, and astounded faces watched him.

"No one's going to believe that," Ron whispered in awe. "Wow."

"Now _you_ tell _me_ one thing. I had almost forgotten. What went with the attack?"

"Oh, it was nothing serious. I don't know what Dumbledore did, but they fled. Might have been the giants, might have been that they saw they couldn't breach the wards, that no one from the inside would assist them…" Ginny said. "Come to think of it… He might have told them that Vol—." She took a deep breath. "Voldemort is no more."

"No more. Gone. Dead," Harry muttered. "Even though I was there, it is something that has to sink in first."

"Receiving visitors, Mr Potter?" Madam Pomfrey bustled in, speaking very softly for her conditions.

Harry nodded sheepishly, as did the others.

"Well, I daresay, you look fine again. How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine, really," replied Harry. "Can I leave, Madam Pomfrey? I… er… I don't know how to put this, but… I don't feel like I should… I don't think anyone should witness—." He jerked his head in direction of Professors Snape and Ravon. Snape was still sitting at her bed, speaking softly to her, holding her hand.

"Ah, yes. I understand," Madam Pomfrey nodded; her trademark-smile disappeared. "It's so sad. Makes you feel for Professor Snape, doesn't it? I just hope Sariss is as much of a fighter as you have always been, Mr Potter."

"She _is_ a fighter, Madam Pomfrey. She saved my life. Twice."

"Twice?" three voices said.

"Hush," said Madam Pomfrey sternly. "Quiet."

"I remembered something down there. I'll tell you later. Please, can I go?"

"Alright, Mr Potter, but take care. I understand perfectly well that you'd rather prefer to be with your friends than stay here and…" She didn't finish. She didn't have to. 

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. "Thanks," he said, got up, grabbed his robes and disappeared behind another screen to put them on. Someone must have brought fresh ones while he had been asleep.

"I should be the one lying there…" he heard Snape's voice again. Very softly, and not remotely as harsh as it was wont to sound. "Not you, Sariss. I'd swap places with you if only that were possible. Immediately. Without a second thought… This is just like last time, but a thousand times worse…" 

**~*~*~**

Severus was heartbroken. It was indeed worse than last time. Back then—it seemed such a long time ago all of a sudden—he hadn't had to face the fear that she would most likely be dying. As soon as he had known her to be safely in Madam Pomfrey's hands, he had known that she would survive. But now… There was nothing anyone could do. She was on her own, fighting whatever it was that she was fighting against.

And Severus had to admit that, back then, he hadn't been so deeply and almost obsessively in love with her yet—although he had thought it impossible that he could be capable of loving her even more; that he had been capable of falling in love again had been a miracle in itself—and with _her _of all people.

**And now it's only a matter of time until she—.**

_Don't. Please, don't._

Thankfully, Sariss was lying relatively still once more. Severus allowed himself a small sigh of relief and despair and whatever else it was that he felt at the moment.

It was too painful to watch her body wrecked with convulsions and tremors all the time. Every time she lay unmoving, if only for a moment, she looked peaceful and only asleep.

The sound of whispering voices and then footsteps…

The sound of the door clicking shut…

Alone.

It was completely silent, save for Sariss's laboured breathing.

Severus still held her hand, only letting go when he felt it was time to wipe her face. She was sweating. Cold sweat. 

He didn't know what else he could do for her. Every second felt like hours. Waiting for her next intake of breath… Waiting for her to exhale the grey mist… Waiting for her to breathe in again…

He wanted to shake her awake. How long would it go on like this? He wanted her to open her eyes, to look up at him from beneath those long black curved lashes—and smile. Had it been only slightly less than forty-eight hours since they had kissed, only a few hours more than that since they'd lain in each other's arms, bodies entangled, souls united? Nothing had pointed to the fact that only two days later—.

Click. 

_The door… _

Footsteps.

"Severus?"

_Dumbledore.___

"Yes," he replied and lapsed back into silence. With a soft rustle of robes, Dumbledore approached. He didn't speak any more. Severus needn't turn around to know that Dumbledore was still there, although he couldn't hear him anymore. He simply knew.

"What happened down there, Headmaster?" Severus whispered after a long while.

"You were there, Severus. You saw it," answered Dumbledore's quiet voice.

"No, not _that_. How was this possible? What's happening to her?" Severus wrung out the cloth he had been wiping her face with; her lips were parchment-dry, chipped and very white compared to her strangely feverish-looking skin.

"I think we should wait for her to wake up. I would like to tell this only once since it would make a rather long and complicated attempt at explaining the events."

"If she wakes up at all," Severus whispered despairingly. 

"Don't lose faith, Severus. Be strong. She is strong, too; she'll be fine. She must. She simply must."

"Maybe not strong enough."

"Then you be strong for her if not for yourself. Mortally wounded have recovered, people we never thought would survive did so because they somehow felt if they came back there'd be someone waiting for them, needing them. This is magic at it most ancient and mystifying," the old man whispered and kissed Sariss's cold, sweaty forehead. "I'm so sorry, Sariss," he whispered before he turned back to face Severus. "Stay with her, Severus, stay with her and let her know that she is desperately needed. Give her all your strength and love. I just hope it's enough to help her fight and win against Voldemort's soul."

"Voldemort's soul?" Severus repeated blankly.

"The Dementor in her is trying to devour it, to destroy it. Two Dark forces are waging war inside her fragile body."

"How do you know?"

"Only a theory. But an explanation as good as any other."

"It sounds logical enough for me to believe you every single word," Severus said. After all, when it came to things like this, Dumbledore was always right. Snape dreaded the answer, but he had to know… "What if she loses the fight?" he breathed.

"I don't know. If she loses, the best that could happen would be for her to simply die—."

"Headmaster!"

"Let me finish, Severus, please," Dumbledore said calmly. "The _worst_ that could happen would be for to stay alive with her soul overcome by Voldemort's. We mustn't underestimate the Dark Lord's will to continue his existence at all costs—."

"You mean, when she opens her eyes, it could be Voldemort looking at me?"

"Yes. That is possible."

"No! No, that mustn't happen! There must be something we can do!"

"Remind her who she is. Keep talking to her. She can hear you. I'm convinced that she does."

"What am I supposed to say? I can't think of a coherent sentence."

"Speak to her as though she were only asleep. Comfort her. Touch her. Care for her. Stay here. I'll take care of you two's business. I'll grade the as of yet unfinished essays, I'll get a decent nightgown for Sariss. She never liked hospital clothes. Let's make her comfortable—."

"Comfortable to die."

"Severus. Repeat after me. She is not going to die."

"You don't know that. No one does. If she loses—."

"Don't let him defeat her. Don't _let_ her die. Keep her alive. Tell her… Yes, talk about the future. Remind her that the future is waiting. If not in words, then in your emotions. Envelop her in everything that is you. Let her know that you're there."

"I'm not going anywhere."

"Good. There's something I must ask of you…" he began hesitantly.

"What is it?"

"Your wand. The Aurors want it for—."

"But—."

"You'll get it back as soon as they're done. My word on this."

**You don't honestly believe you'll get it back. They'll do their tests on it. Determine the spells you cast with it and then they'll come in here and tear you away from her faster than you can say 'Azkaban'—where you'll join your former _colleagues_. They will be very _pleased_ to see you.**

"It doesn't matter anyway," Severus muttered and handed over his wand. "They'll probably snap it later on."

"Thank you." Dumbledore pocketed it. "And you _will_ get it back. I'll do everything in my power to—."

"In fact, I can't seem to care."

Dumbledore patted Severus's shoulder. "Don't worry. I'll tell the Ministry people that you need to stay with her. They don't need you for Prior Incantato. I'll be back as soon as I can." He turned to leave. "And I'll go get some of her things," he added. "Anything special she might—?"

"A hairbrush," Severus muttered.

"Excuse me?"

"A hairbrush. You said, 'Let's make her comfortable.' She might want her hair to be brushed…" Severus chided himself for not being able to find the words to explain better what it meant to him to brush her hair. It was important. An important gesture as small as it was. To her and to him. It were the small gestures that counted. 

Dumbledore nodded.

"And a certain book she has in her study. Her favourite, I think. I never asked her about it. It looks quite tattered already. So I—."

"I believe I know which one you mean. I gave it to her for Christmas once so she'd have her own copy. She'd never thought of buying it herself," he mused. "Tolkien, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"A very good idea, Severus. I'll be back soon." He gave Severus another encouraging pat on the shoulder and then left. The door fell shut with a small clicking noise.

"Oh, Sariss, what am I supposed to do?" Severus asked after a long silence, during which he only heard the wind blow and catch in the towers and bays of Hogwarts castle. The sound was eerily similar to Sariss's ragged breathing, only louder. "I wish I could be of more help. All I can do is be here. I wish you'd tell me that it's enough…"

He took her hand in his again. She had clenched it into a fist. Both her hands were fists. Severus forced the one that was near him apart and laced his fingers through hers so she couldn't make the fist anymore. Her nails had dug into her palm once more. But there was no fresh blood. The way she'd clenched her hands into fists, trembling, yet unyielding like marble, hardly allowed the blood to flow.

With his fingers between hers, he prevented her from hurting herself. He only wished he could do that with her other hand, too. But there was no way of unclenching it with only one hand free. He had needed all his strength of his two hands to manage it once. It had to be enough.

_Don't die on me. Don't die on me. You mustn't die on me._

As painful as her grasp on his hand was, it had a soothing component to it. As long as the pain was there, Severus could be positive that she was not dead.

She was holding onto him for dear life, although if she knew, Severus couldn't tell.

"Live, Sariss. Live and fight," Severus whispered intently. "Live for me."

**No one ever _lived_ for you, isn't that so? Not even your family did…**

_Most of them were already dead to me when they were still alive. My real family is here. _

**And half of it is dying…**

"Fight for us," he continued, thinking that perhaps if he roused her stubbornness and determination, she might gain some more strength. "You can't let him win. Not even in death, he must win. Never. Don't let him defeat you in the end. Come back to me, Sariss. You're stronger than him. If you let him win now, where's your revenge, huh? Where's your revenge?"

Still holding on to her, he closed his eyes…

**~*~*~**

Severus blinked the sleep out of his eyes. He had fallen asleep again. Time seemed to stand still when he was sitting by her side and taking care of her best as he could. At other times, time seemed to be fleeting, hours flying by like minutes. But no matter if time went by fast or slowly, Sariss's condition didn't change.

Dumbledore must have been here earlier. There were the book and the hairbrush and her nightgown, the long white one, one of her favourites because it was so soft and flowing. Severus knew it looked simply magnificent on her with its transparent sleeves and the not too low cut, gently curved neckline. She had blushed an adorable pink when Severus had told her that she looked like a nymph in it, as though she'd go up in a wisp of smoke any second—.

But it was completely useless at the moment. How was he supposed to get it on her when she didn't yield, when she kept struggling and kicking and straining against the bonds?

So he set it aside for the time being. Instead, he wiped her forehead again. She was sweating, but even so, she was terribly cold again. The fever had apparently stopped. 

The muscles in her face, her cold hands, were tense and stiff. Severus gently unclenched her fist again, held her hand in his, first one, then the other one, stroking them, kissing them, trying to warm them. She looked like alabaster, her fingernails like glass. 

Her touch was still the same. Electrifying, cool and soothing, and so familiar that it hurt.

"I'm here, Sariss," he said. Those were the words that came most naturally to him. He had said them so often already. He had fallen asleep with those words on his lips how many times? "I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere, do you hear me? I'm here. I'm waiting for you. I love you; you know that, don't you? You knew it even before I said it. I love you."

He'd give everything if only she'd reply…

Her body was still trembling. Severus threw another blanket over her, although he was fairly sure that it was not the cold that made her tremble. He'd know by now if that were so. No, she wasn't shivering because she might be freezing; it was the strain that made her tremble, the battle against whatever it was that Voldemort's soul was doing to her; she was fighting it. And she was putting up one hell of a fight just as Severus had told her to.

"I'm here."

Gently, he began brushing her hair. It was draped over the pillow on either side of her like two auburn veils, shiny and soft.

"And you're still beautiful. Like a porcelain doll," he muttered, letting her hair flow through his fingers and beginning to plait it, but only near her scalp. The lower half of her tresses he let flow openly, arranging them on either side of her. Lovely. He couldn't help it. Lovely… Another one of the words that slipped so easily over his lips when he looked at her or merely thought of her. "Are you even aware how beautiful you are to me? Every passing day, every passing minute, you've become more beautiful, just when I started to think that that's impossible. Even now, you're my Beauty. My Sleeping Beauty."

_If only she were merely sleeping…_

He set the brush aside and reached for the book instead.

"Let me read to you," Severus said softly. "Let's see… You even marked the page. How often have you read it? You probably know it by heart already…" He opened it where Sariss had marked the page with a small empty piece of parchment. 

But there was not only that small piece of parchment that marked the page. As he put that one away, another parchment slid out of the book and tumbled to the floor. It was a whole sheet of parchment, folded once right in the middle—and it bore his name in what was unmistakably Sariss's handwriting.

This couldn't be what it probably was. Severus retrieved it from the floor and unfolded it with slightly trembling hands. If they trembled because he dreaded the content or because he was lacking quite a few hours of deep sleep, he couldn't tell.

_Severus__,_ it read in a small and narrow version of Sariss's usually generously elegant, old-fashioned and eccentric-looking writing. Her hand was so much like her that he could almost hear her voice say his name when he read it. Apparently, she'd had an idea of how long the letter would become even before she'd started writing it. Strangely, it didn't look as if it had to be squeezed onto the parchment. It was exactly two pages.

_Severus__,_

_I'm not exactly sure what date it is today and I'm too lazy to look it up. It wouldn't matter anyway. I think that, now as I write this, you're probably rummaging around in your office or something. I'll go to you later. I'm sure we'll be making love again. And then we'll talk. And then make love. Deliciously dizzying, isn't it? And at some point, I'll fall asleep in your arms, the only place in which I feel safe enough to actually sleep. You're always so warm… I love the way you touch me. I love the way you look at me. With you I can pretend that I'm just a normal woman, although you make me feel extraordinary—_

_Oh dear, this was not supposed to be a love letter. It was supposed to be something much more unpleasant. A document full of explanations and confessions…_

_Why am I writing this anyway? I don't even know how to start. Sometimes it seems that I don't know anything._

_Well, I don't know if you'll ever come across this piece of parchment, that's for sure. I think I'll leave it somewhere for you to find should something happen to me. If it does it's probably my own fault. Who am I kidding? There is no if. There is only a when. And I hope it's soon—I'm sorry, but I do—because I don't think I can bear it for much longer. Do not feel bad, Severus. You haven't only kept me alive; you've kept me sane, and now that you're reading this, you might even have kept me sane long enough to end the life of the monster that spawned me. I'm saying it frankly. I'm not that different from him. Just imagine me growing up among cruel people, imagine me growing up living in an orphanage—as if that were an excuse for being… I don't know what he is. I don't know how the man my mother loved could become what he became… Looks can be so deceiving…_

_Oh, but the point is, now that you're reading this, I've probably followed him—or didn't even make it. Did I do it, Severus? Have I managed to rid the world of him? Have I committed a murder? I most certainly am capable of it. I know it because I am my father's daughter and I killed before. I already wanted to kill him when—No, that wasn't my father. That was Voldemort. And now they're the same man, although there's hardly something human left in that creature… I am so much like him…_

_Have I killed him? If so, I didn't do it for the world. It was for me, my dead mother, your regrets, for Aurora and Rick… Maybe it was a bit for the world, too._

_I'm dreading this moment. But I'm also looking forward to it. How strange is that?_

The page ended there, and Severus turned the parchment to continue…

_So… apparently, the moment came and passed—or you wouldn't be reading this._

_Do not blame yourself, Severus. I don't know if you tried to talk me out of it. Have we ever spoken about it before I went off to find and fulfil my destiny? This sounds so pathetic, I know. I don't think I could have spoken the words out loud to you. No, I'm sure I never said them. I'll write them instead._

_I, or rather the Dementor in me, it sucked the greater monster's soul out—or it tried. I leave it to you to decide whether indicative or subjunctive would be the correct mood to use here._

_You couldn't have stopped me. No one could ever have stopped me. Get that into your thick skull, you creep. No lovely detention for that now, I'm afraid… Thinking you could ever have stopped me from doing something I really wanted to do. How presumptuous of you that would be._

_I'm so mixing up moods and tenses in this letter, aren't I? Past tense, present, perfect, future… They all blend into one. It's amusing to think that I'm sitting here and struggling to sound as if I were speaking to you some time in the future…_

_I can't help but wonder what it's like. Being dead I mean. Am I lurking around somewhere in the castle having conversations about not sufficiently clammy ectoplasm with the other ghosts? Do I have enough unfinished business to remain in the material world?_

_You tell me, Severus. Are you my unfinished business?_

_Have I ever told you that I love you? Have you ever told me? It's hard to say, isn't it? Well, I do. I do love you. And the longer we're together the more I love you. I fear that I won't be able to bring myself to fulfil this stupid prophecy. Yes, it's about me. It has to. A part of me wants it to be that way. The other part doesn't, but it knows that it is._

_Just look at me. Even on paper, I'm rambling. No order. No proper start, no proper middle part, no climax. And as this piece of parchment is almost full, I think I should finally come to an end as well… The end. As if anything ever really ended… There are probably many things I never told you, many things left unspoken… How could there ever be an end then? Yet, here it is. The end of me. The end of what we had… Yes, the end at least will be a proper one._

_I love you, Severus, remember that always…_

_And, Severus…__ You made me happy._

_Sariss_

He had to read it a second time before his brain had processed it, yet it failed to deliver a comment. The letter didn't ease the pain. It changed nothing. Or maybe it did. _The longer we're together the more I love you._ There it was. I love you. She'd said it, and now he held it in his hands, hidden among many words with many tiny letters.

He folded the parchment again and put it back inside the book. No one would know that it existed. It would lie hidden between two pages forever, and only Severus—and Sariss, if she made it—would know of its existence. She had to make it. There was no alternative. She had to. She simply had to.

After all, she was still alive. He had to keep telling himself that.

Then, one day, when Severus would surreptitiously skim through the book's pages, he might find it gone as if it had never been there. But in his mind's eye he'd still see the words—not because he'd once read them, but because she'd whisper them to him. What he wouldn't give to hear her voice.

He sighed. It sounded so loud in all this silence. The whole castle seemed to hold its breath.

"Now let me read to you," he began softly, thus adding another sound to the silence. Another sound than Sariss's unsteady breathing. It was strange. Even though he spoke and she breathed fairly audibly, it still seemed silent. "And, remember, I am waiting for you."

He cleared his throat and began to read to her.

"Chapter Seven. Journey to the Crossroads. Frodo and Sam returned to their beds and lay there in silence resting for a little…"

**~*~*~**

"Checkmate," Ginny said. "Again. You don't really pay attention, do you, Harry? Crookshanks could have seen that one coming."

"I'm sorry, Gin. Let's play another game and I'll try to be more of a worthy opponent, alright?"

So they repaired the pieces and set up another game.

"The loser begins," Ginny said.

"No need to tell me that every time," Harry muttered. "How often have I lost already?"

"Seven or eight times."

"Oh, dear…"

"What's on your mind?"

"Sirius takes quite a long time to write me back considering that he's supposed to be somewhere in England, don't you think?"

"I'm sure he's alright. Now that Voldemort's gone, they'll only have to sweep up the pieces—."

"Mr Potter?" Professor McGonagall scrambled through the portrait hole. "Ah, there you are. Would you accompany me to the headmaster? There are a few Ministry officials who'd like to have a word with you."

"Alright," Harry said. He had been expecting it actually. "Sorry, Gin."

"Don't worry. They'll only ask a few questions concerning the incident that happened down in the Chamber. They just need a testimony from you since Professor Ravon isn't available."

"But Snape…" Harry got up.

"Professor Snape, Mr Potter, is… well… He refuses to leave Professor Ravon. In fact, I think, he doesn't want to talk to them and uses the best excuse there is…" McGonagall muttered. "I would prefer that, too… But I don't think your interrogation will be that unpleasant. They just want a firsthand account on what happened."

"I understand, Professor," he said. 

"How is Professor Ravon?" asked Ginny.

"I don't know, Miss Weasley. I don't know." Professor McGonagall heaved a sigh. "Let's go, Mr Potter. I don't think it will take long."

Harry followed her through the portrait hole and to Dumbledore's office without speaking.

Of course, the Ministry people would come and ask him some questions about what had happened. It was nothing new. But would they believe him? Fudge hadn't believed him three years ago. Fudge hadn't believed Dumbledore either. Would he believe what lay before his very eyes? What explanation would the Minister bring up for Voldemort's dead body? Could he still ignore the evidence? Harry wouldn't put it past him. And what had happened to the caught Death Eaters? Where was Draco Malfoy? Had he already wormed his way out of it, claiming he had been under the Imperius Curse perhaps? Or was he doing what he did best? Was he already spilling the beans about his Death Eater friends so he'd get out of it unscathed?

Anxious voices could be heard as Professor McGonagall led Harry up the spiral staircase.

Harry recognized Dumbledore's voice at once although he had never heard him sound that angry. From the few words Harry could clearly understand he assumed that the content of the conversation was revolving somewhere along, "I told you. We told you. You wouldn't listen. And here's your undeniable proof that we were right all along."

Was he talking to—?

Yes, there was Fudge's voice, too. Had it always sounded so annoying? And to think that Harry had sort of liked Fudge when he'd met him first.

The further the staircase carried Harry and Professor McGonagall up towards the office door, the better Harry understood what was being said.

"Cornelius," Dumbledore pleaded, "you must act fast now before they can leave Britain. This could be your chance to catch the whole lot. The Order simply can't provide enough resources for such a big undertaking. We need your assistance here. We need the Aurors, everyone available, everyone who can hold a wand."

"Apart from the ones we already caught, we don't even know their names, Dumbledore. We'd have to offer the prisoners deals—."

"We know their names. We've known them all the time. Even though the Dark Mark is fading, we know. Severus Snape risked his life, the Parkinsons died to provide us with that knowledge. Don't let them claim the Imperius-excuse again. Use Veritaserum on the prisoners if you want confirmation. Qualms and false scruples are pointless here. A woman's fighting for her life while we're discussing petty politics—," Dumbledore said, as Professor McGonagall knocked. "Ah! Now there's Mr Potter. He'll give you your answers."

"Albus."

Dumbledore nodded his greeting.

"Professor Dumbledore."

"Good to see you are well, Harry. You already know Cornelius Fudge—." Harry nodded. "And those are Aurors Queror and Ansel. They're here to investigate the Dark Lord's demise."

"I know, Professor."

"And Sirius is here, too."

"Where is he—? Oh, hi… _Snuffles_." A smile crept onto Harry's face as he saw the giant black dog that was his godfather's Animagus form lounge about the carpet in front of the fireplace. Sirius liked being Snuffles very much. It had been useful for his escape from Azkaban, and it had also been very much fun during the full moon nights with Moony, Wormtail and Prongs, a.k.a. Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew and James Potter, Harry's father. Sirius had told Harry some stories that sounded unbelievable. Perhaps he had been exaggerating. But in the wizarding world everything seemed still kind of weird to Harry, so he might have been telling the truth after all…

With a _Plop!_ Sirius transformed into his human self and crossed the room. 

"I thought instead of writing a letter I'd drop by personally, Harry." He smiled. "You don't look any worse for wear despite your—."

"Can we begin now?" Queror or Ansel said.

"Yes, of course."

"Mr Black…" Fudge began.

"Regard me as the cavalry," Sirius said, making himself comfortable in one of the armchairs. "In fact I'm just curious." He shrugged. "No use making my godson report twice today and give him a sore throat. I promise to be a good dog. See?" He transformed back into the large black dog and rested his head on his paws. If it was anatomically possible for a dog to smirk, Snuffles did it.

And thus, Harry reported what had happened, not in exactly the way, he had told Ron, Hermione and Ginny. Of course not. Some things were private. Among other things, he left out the voice that he might have imagined, after all. It seemed so strange to him in retrospect. Quite some things seemed strange and surreal. The way Harry had understood Fudge three years ago, the man already thought that he was mad. He had read too much Rita Skeeter back then. A bad influence—and one that left a lasting impression.

"Interesting," Fudge said when Harry had finished and answered a few additional questions asked by the Aurors. They hadn't commentated on anything Harry had said. They had simply taken a few notes and nodded now and then during Harry's account of things.

"Interesting. But highly unbelievable."

"Cornelius. You have evidence that supports what Harry has just said. And Sariss—."

"Will you stop with that woman? We all know that—."

"And will you stop believing every single word Rita Skeeter has ever wasted parchment on?" Dumbledore boomed.

"Um… Professor…" Harry began, feeling uncomfortable at the fact that he had to witness them argue.

Dumbledore sighed. "All I'm asking of you, Cornelius, is to help me. Is it so important to find out _how_ it happened? Isn't it far more important to use the current chaos among the Death Eaters to our advantage? The rest can be dealt with later. But we must strike now; join our forces and then strike fast and hard before they find time to regroup. That strategy worked before. Act faster than they expect you to. Simple and effective."

"Minister?" Queror or Ansel said. "If I may say so… You should perhaps agree. It won't do any further damage to act now. In fact, the story sounds plausible to me. Strange but perfectly logical considering that it's the only possible explanation for all of it."

"We've heard worse," the other one said. "And if you intend to at least try to keep your position in the Ministry for another period you should indeed listen."

"And if you doubt that the body is the Dark Lord's, all I can say is, 'Don't.' It is he. We already used Prior Incantato on Mr Snape's wand. There's absolutely no doubt that it was the Dark Lord all along despite your—."

"Ansel, you're exceeding your authority!"

"Minister, if you don't intend to support Dumbledore in those matters… Why did you bring the Aurors in the first place?" Harry asked. "Everyone could have asked those questions and then sent the report to the relevant department in the Ministry."

There was a long silence.

"It appears that I have no choice in those matters. The MLED is in charge here. I'll give the Aurors a free hand. Inform Harker. He'll alert everyone. Tell him to contact Albus Dumbledore," Fudge said finally. One could see it in his face that it took him quite something to force those words over his lips. "Satisfied, Dumbledore?"

"Thank you, Cornelius," Dumbledore said, putting his hand on the other man's shoulder. "Thank you."

**~*~*~**

Harry opened his eyes.

It was 12th June. A week since the exams had been over. Two days since Harry had been released from the infirmary. Three days and four nights since the attack, since Harry had been as good as dead—if it hadn't been for Professor Ravon.

The Death Eaters had been taken to Azkaban for interrogation and trial. Rumour had it that the Ministry got more names out of them than ever before. With that information, they'd soon be totally obliterated. Apparently, the fact that they'd seen Voldemort's dead body and that they'd been informed about what had occurred, had loosened their tongues considerably.

As a consequence, many Slytherins were highly nervous. Understandable, as the Dark Mark indicated quite clearly, which one of them had already been initiated…

A few of the most respected and influential families in the wizarding world were involved. That meant that Rita Skeeter had a field day. Good. Great. That way she'd be much too busy to fly or crawl around Hogwarts and spy on anybody who might mention something of the affair in passing. That woman's quill was wicked.

Harry heard some noises. The other boys in his dormitory woke up too. 

"Oi, mate! Wake up! Today's the day!" Ron said and drew back the hangings.

"The meaning of the word 'Privacy' isn't well known to you I take it?" Harry yawned. Why was Ron so excited? 

Oh. Sure. The exam result were supposed to come out today…

Harry didn't quite share that excitement. Of course they had passed. They had been revising so much; it wasn't possible for them to have failed, was it?

Fact was, however, that Harry couldn't seem to care if he received two N.E.W.Ts or twelve. It wasn't of much importance, since he could be dead now if it hadn't been for _her_ to arrive just in time.

For the second time in his life. 

Vague memories had become startlingly clear down in the Chamber. She'd saved him twice. The mere thought of it! A Slytherin saving the life of Harry Potter! Well, it was not unheard of. Snape had done that too. Several times. Even when it hadn't been necessary he'd tried to save him.

Harry hadn't seen either of them since _the day_. One could only guess what was happening to Professor Ravon. It was being said that her condition was critical. Dumbledore's grave expression whenever Harry saw his face confirmed that rumour.

The atmosphere had been subdued. And not only among the Gryffindors. Ginny showed her concern rather openly but tried to cheer Harry up as best as she could. It wasn't very effective, but it was good to have her near. She understood him without many words.

He didn't know why exactly it was that he was so worried about Ravon. He just knew that he was. 

Hermione was the optimistic one. She always said that a powerful witch like Ravon simply must survive what she had done. Life would be too unfair if she didn't. When everyone else—except the Dark wizards, of course—could enjoy the benefits of her deed, it was only just for her to be able to do the same.

And Ron, well, he was the one who didn't show how he felt about the current situation. But, since Harry knew him so well, it was quite obvious that he didn't want to start on the requiem for Ravon already. Somehow, Ron had always been that way. And it was good. His jokes managed to make the current situation a bit more bearable.

The other houses weren't too cheerful either. It was quite surprising how popular Ravon had been—was. As of yet, there was no reason to use the past tense. 

"Don't you want to get up?" Ron said. "The lists will be already up. You want to know how many N.E.W.Ts you got, don't you? You know, just to show off to Ginny. Set a good example and all that."

"Yeah," said Harry and yawned again. He hadn't slept very well during the last nights. Somehow, his scar kept itching and prickling and thus kept him awake. Sometimes it even stung as if Voldemort were planning something vicious. Had that something to do with the state Professor Ravon was in? After all, she had a scar identical to Harry's. It had been made on the same day, by the same wand, by the same person. A connection perhaps? Similar to the mind connection they had apparently had a few days ago…

Harry mentally shook himself. Pondering that would help nobody. Thinking didn't help. And there was nothing anyone could do. Even get-well cards seemed cynical… _No, stop thinking. Answer to what Ron said._

"Wouldn't that be your job? Set a good example as the older brother?"

Ron made an indecisive gesture.

"Well, that's that then." Harry put on his glasses and got up. "Just give me five minutes to wake up."

**~*~*~**

When they arrived in the Entrance Hall, a throng of students was assembled in front of the black board.

"The results," Hermione said, nervously wringing her hands. "They're out."

"Why so anxious?" asked Ron. "Everybody in here knows that you're right on top of the list. One N.E.W.T. for each subject. That would—in your case—make…"

"Ten normal level N.E.W.Ts. Plus any medium or advanced level ones if available," Ginny said. "I'd say you'll at least get fifteen or so."

"Could be a record," Harry said. "Come on. Let's take a look."

They stepped closer to the board. There weren't many seventh years there anymore. They had left for breakfast now.

"There! Sixteen, Hermione! My girlfriend is the most intelligent girl in the history of Hogwarts. Her name will be in a new and revised edition of _Hogwarts: A History._ Generations to come will know her name…"

Hermione blushed and giggled. "Oh, come on. _Hogwarts: A History_… I want a book about me and me alone," she said dramatically. "By the way, you're not too bad either, boyfriend of mine. Eleven. That's good. All those hours in the library weren't wasted. Your mother will be so proud." She messed up his fiery hair so it stood in all directions.

"'Mione…" Ron complained loudly. "You're worse than my mother."

"Twelve, Harry! A whole dozen," Ginny squealed. "And in the top ten too. The Ministry will be hunting you down to join them."

"Not if I shield myself with our genius here…" Harry answered. "Where are your results, Ginny? They must be… There." He quickly scanned the numbers. "Flying colours I'd say. You don't intend to beat Hermione to the record, do you?"

"I might. As you won't be here next year, I'll be having simply too much time on my hands. As I don't intend to find a replacement for you, I'll have to make friends with some very large books."

"Next year," Harry muttered. "I owe it to a single person that I can even think of a next year now…"

"Oh, Harry. She'll be okay. Madam Pomfrey is doing everything she can right as we speak. And so is Dumbledore. And Snape."

**Next chapter:**

Severus still takes care of Sariss and gets all emotional. Dumbledore writes a few letters. Poppy is not amused. And someone thanks someone else.


	35. When You're Sleeping

**Author's note: Looks like you're the only one still reading this, Miriam. Thank you sooo much! *huggles***

Chapter 34: When You're Sleeping

**_It's no secret I've been waiting but I didn't expect this  
Nothing will remain, nothing stays the same after you came  
It's no secret I've been starving, I never felt anything for years  
I sat up all night just to watch your smile when you're sleeping…_**

**_I was so lucky you picked me  
My trash turned to silver_**

_—__Roxette__: I Was So Lucky___

Dumbledore opened the door to the infirmary to look after Sariss. Six days. Six bloody days it was already since she had taken the Dark Lord's soul. And nothing had changed.

Severus hadn't left her side for more than a minute in a row, and only if someone else—namely Dumbledore or Madam Pomfrey—was there. If the house-elves hadn't brought him food and drink, he wouldn't even have eaten. He even slept there, sitting in the armchair, his head resting near Sariss's arm, his hand almost always holding hers, no matter how painfully she might squeeze when another tremor rocked through her system. Severus didn't even wince. He was apparently beyond such nuisances as mere pain.

Dumbledore understood him perfectly fine. He would have liked to do the same for Sariss. Be there for her. But he was the headmaster; he had to settle everything. He had called the Ministry people to take care of what had been down in the Chamber. The Death Eaters had been arrested. Dumbledore had given testimony as far as he knew. Harry had been very helpful, too. 

But they'd wanted to see Sariss. Dumbledore had refused. He wouldn't let them. Not now. Not if he could help it. They shouldn't see her like this. He would do everything in his power to spare her Azkaban should she live—and he hoped so very much that she would win the war that was being fought inside her body, by her soul, by her sheer will. 

She had always been so stubborn… Dumbledore only hoped for her soul to be stubborn enough to remain inside her body and not be driven out to be replaced by a being that had indeed more in common with a demon than a human. 

Dumbledore realized he had indeed developed fatherly feelings for her. He'd known that long ago. He'd come to love the little quiet girl. But he'd never have thought he'd come to love her like the daughter he'd never had. Of course, it had been touching when she'd confessed to him that she thought of him as family. But now she might as well _be_ his daughter. His little girl, which she was quite obviously not.

As strange as it was, for years they'd only written each other occasionally—although at least Sariss's had always been very long letters as though she'd wanted to make up for their infrequency. Very emotional ones, although she usually didn't display her feelings openly. Perhaps it was easier for her to write them down in a moment of calmness than to show them, which she didn't, unless she had lost control. It always took her a while to recover from an outburst. Then and only then she showed her feelings openly. But usually she didn't. At least not to the extent to which she had shown them recently. Usually. What kind of word was that now? She hadn't been very 'usual' the last few months—not even in her terms—had she?

She had not been the only one to act _un_usual.

In a way, deliberately or not, she had put a spell on the embittered Potions master and managed the unthinkable. She'd drawn a smile on his face—and then she'd been the reason for him to even shed tears. To Dumbledore's knowledge, Severus hadn't _cried_—it sounded stupid when in the same sentence with that man—he hadn't wept for ages. Not in public—and to Severus three, or four people respectively, were public. It was strange that those two had sort of managed to convince themselves that they needed each other—with a little help from Dumbledore—but that, they needn't know. Together they had found a way back into life. Severus more than Sariss, of course.

Severus. This could end in a tragedy if Sariss didn't recover… One could see it in his eyes when he'd looked at her, thought of her. The cold, the emptiness, had left them, despite the fact that Severus found her so very annoying sometimes. That thought made Dumbledore chuckle sadly. Oh, yes, that was what Sariss was like. Annoyingly stubborn sometimes. But the important thing was that she was so much more.

And to Severus Snape she had become everything. One needn't be a mind reader to see that.

If only she'd regain consciousness. The longer it took, the more unlikely it became.

He had to admit that he feared for her. Greatly. Every passing day, every passing hour, the fear increased. But Dumbledore mustn't show it. Not when he had to encourage Severus to not give up on her.

Dumbledore silently closed the door and peered around the curtains that were still shielding Sariss's bed from any curious pair of eyes that might sneak into the hospital wing. 

A very familiar image greeted him. 

Severus had fallen asleep in exactly the position he had slept in every time he had fallen asleep by Sariss's side.

The book had fallen to the floor. 

Almost completely soundlessly, Dumbledore bent down, took it and set it on the bedside table. Sariss's wand was sitting there also.

Then the headmaster tentatively reached out and lightly touched Severus's shoulder so as to wake him without startling him. "Severus."

Snape blinked. "Headmaster," he said wearily. One look at him confirmed how much the current situation was wearing on him. He looked old. There was no other word to describe him with. It seemed he had aged years during the last few days, whereas he had been so obviously feeling young and alive only a week ago. One could see it in his eyes. Was it only hardly a week? Even to Dumbledore it felt much longer than that…

"How are you?" he asked softly.

"I'm fine."

Dumbledore smirked. Of course, he'd say he was fine. In comparison to Sariss, roundabout everyone could reply with that answer.

"Any changes?" A question with little meaning. He couldn't bring himself to sound encouraging anymore. Dumbledore felt he was losing hope more and more each day. But it wasn't _his_ hope or despair that counted. Severus was the one who was with her. She needed him now. More than anyone else.

She didn't need a father. She needed to be—yes, she needed to be _needed_. And it was Severus who needed her.

"I… I don't know. What time is it?" He must be even more tired than he looked like. "I must have fallen asleep sometime in the afternoon…"

"It's only nine thirty."

**~*~*~**

Severus nodded and began to wipe her face once more, dabbing the cold sweat from her brow, applying a special potion to her lips that would prevent them from chipping. The water didn't provide enough moisture. Actually, it seemed to have made it worse. Or maybe that was only his impression. After three days—Severus had still been counting back then; how long ago had that been?—it had been so bad that her lips had actually bled—and Severus couldn't bear the sight of blood on her. Not even that single dark red droplet of thick clotting blood that had slithered down her chin. 

Now it was much better, he observed. Her lips looked soft again. They even had a slight pinkish tinge to them. Extremely kissable. It was painful how kissable they looked again. And the green mist, too, had stopped emanating from her nose at every breath she took. 

"How long have I been sitting here already?" Severus asked.

"You don't know?"

"Time seems to stand still in here," he muttered in reply. "And just look how pretty she is. Even now. She looks—."

Sariss's hands looked relaxed; no more fists. Her arms were lying limply in the restraints. Her lips were slightly parted. Her complexion was still pale but no longer as waxen as it had been. His eyes must be deceiving him. She looked as though she were only asleep, completely relaxed…

"Headmaster, is she…"

The old man pushed him to the side and bent over her, touching her forehead, her eyes, her cheeks, her throat…

"She's not dead. She's sleeping," he said simply. He sounded… _stunned_. Amazed. And—relieved? "Nothing more, nothing less. She's asleep—or rather she was."

Severus rushed around the bed to the other side so he could see her. Sariss's eyelids fluttered; she gave a very soft moan.

"Tell Poppy to bring a simple Sleeping Potion. Sariss needs rest. She doesn't have the strength to wake up fully. A few more days should do. Then we'll see if—."

Severus turned on his heels to rush to get the nurse, but stopped dead when he thought he heard the most beautiful voice he could imagine at the moment, the voice he had been yearning to hear for how many days?

"Severus…" It was barely audible. If it hadn't been for the soft hiss of the letter S, he wouldn't have heard it at all.

"Sariss!" he exclaimed hoarsely and grabbed hold of one of her hands. "Sariss, I'm here, love. I'm here." He lavished kisses on her knuckles. 

She moaned softly, managing an almost imperceptible smile and tried to open her eyes. A green glimmer was visible for a moment, then they fell shut again. Before she lost the little consciousness she'd had, Severus thought he heard her breathe, "Love you…"

"Headmaster, what—?"

"I think our questions are answered, Severus," the old man said, gently stroking Sariss's forehead. Severus could see tears in his eyes, but a very relieved smile lit up his old face. "She fought, and it seems that she won." Dumbledore blinked back a tear. "Go and get Poppy. She'll be glad to be able to help again."

Severus hurried to get Madam Pomfrey. On his way out, he heard the headmaster speak calmly to Sariss, "Sleep, dear, everything is well in order. You did it. You did fine. Everything is being taken care of. Nothing to worry about. Sleep, dearie. We're all watching over you…"

**~*~*~**

Within a matter of only a few minutes, Severus rushed back in with Madam Pomfrey at his heels.

"Headmaster, is it true?"

"Yes, Poppy, yes, it is true. Sariss seems fine, but I fear she's too weak to wake up. And you know how stubborn she is. She's trying either way, even in her barely conscious state."

"Of course," Madam Pomfrey smiled. "She wants to wake up no matter what. I have just the thing she needs—."

"Or rather the two things." Dumbledore winked.

Severus didn't even have the energy to blush or throw him an annoyed glance.

Madam Pomfrey drew a phial out of her pocket and administered a bit of the lilac potion that was inside to Sariss. It went well; Sariss didn't refuse taking it in the slightest.

"Here, Severus. Every few hours, give her a bit of that potion." Severus accepted the proffered phial. "It's only a light Sleeping Draught—very much diluted—although I think it hardly necessary to tell you that. Only a few drops every few hours. I daresay she's in safe hands with you. The potion and the Potions master. What could go wrong with that combination?"

"Especially with _this_ Potions master watching over her," Dumbledore said. Severus could hear the smile in the old man's voice.

Severus felt too relieved to join the conversation. He could only look at Sariss. His Sleeping Beauty. Alive and recovering. Hopefully. 

She was still magically bound to the bed. 

Dumbledore made the bonds vanish as if he'd read Snape's thoughts.

Better. Much better.

Now she didn't look like a raving lunatic anymore.

"I think this is our cue to leave, Poppy," said Dumbledore. The long-absent twinkle had returned to his ice-blue eyes.

"How long?" Severus asked. A thought had sprung to his mind. "How long will she—?"

"Oh, for just a few more days, Severus. Don't worry. Poppy will look after the two of you and I'll drop in again tomorrow. At last I can look forward to a good night's sleep again."

"Good night, Severus. I'll be dropping in from time to time to give her some soup and such."

Severus nodded. "Good night," he muttered in reply.

The door closed after them. And once more, Severus was alone with Sariss. But it couldn't be any more different than from a few hours ago.

Sariss would live—and above all, she would be herself. It seemed that he was too happy to express it.

Instead, he took her hand—her _warm_ hand—and lavished another set of kisses on it. 

She felt completely natural. Perfectly _human_…

_So warm and alive.___

**Past Evil shall be made undone, remember?**

_Perhaps…_

Severus gaze fell on her nightgown. Dumbledore had brought it days (?) ago. Maybe now was the right time to make her comfortable, now that she wasn't bound anymore, now that she could appreciate it. After all, Severus had run out of ideas as to what to do with her, what to tell her. He couldn't beg her to come back anymore, he couldn't tell her to fight any longer. The only thing that he could tell her was that he was there—but he'd said it so often, even to himself he sounded like a scratched record.

Thus, he took the hospital gown off her. Very carefully. She felt so light, so fragile, to him, so precious. Had it ever before been that easy to lift her up? She'd never been exactly heavy, but now she was hardly there. She must have lost quite a few pounds of weight. How come he hadn't realized until now? Of course. He had been there all the time. One simply didn't notice those things when they happened before one's very eyes.

He couldn't keep himself from letting his hands wander over her body as he made to slip the gown over her head, insert her arms into the long silken sleeves, lifting her up so he could draw it down right to her ankles. That's why she loved it so much; it enveloped her but it seemed to be hardly there when she spent the night with him. 

It was as if he were dressing a living and breathing doll. She was pliant yet frail.

Her collarbones seemed to stand out, as well as her ribs and the bones of her hips. But she was so warm and soft. He could feel the blood pulsing through her veins.

Very familiar and quite indecent thoughts dreaded to invade his mind. He shook them off and quickly finished his task. Yes, the nightgown was a bit large for her now, but it wasn't too bad. She could still wear it. It would be a pity if she didn't. She liked it very much. It had been rather tight fitting around her chest earlier; now it looked a bit more decent on her, but nonetheless perfect. Innocent but seductive. How was that possible at all?

And it was much better than the hospital gown. Softer and shinier. And for the first time, it didn't blend in almost perfectly with her skin. No, the silk was so white, it emphasised the slight pinkish shimmer that seemed to glow all around Sariss now. She was glowing with life, as though life had to make up for something it had missed out on her. And it had. But no more—.

Once again, realization struck like a bolt of lightning.

She had performed the _Kiss_…

She had killed Voldemort…

And Severus had been her partner in crime…

He had cast Avada Kedavra…

They still had his wand to even prove it in addition to what Potter might have told them…

They'd both be going to Azkaban. There was no doubt. It would be madness to think that the Ministry would make a difference between a life and a _life_. Would justice be blind to the fact that the life they'd ended together had been the Dark Lord's? Probably. To justice, a life was a life, no matter if it belonged to an innocent child or to the most dangerous Dark wizard since Grindelwald whom Dumbledore had defeated in a wizard's duel. But they had killed in cold blood. Severus had seen very few people who'd killed as cold-bloodedly as Sariss had done it. No angry words, no tantrums, no tortures. So _dispassionate_. Like the Angel of Death. Without emotions. One might as well have put her under the Imperius Curse. She couldn't have acted with less feeling if one had commanded her to.

_A life is still a life… _

Would Dumbledore find a way out of this mess?

**Better get accustomed to the thought of going to Azkaban.**

So _that_ had been what she had fought for, what he had begged her to fight for? All the time he had been telling her that the future was waiting for her, for them, the two of them together, completely oblivious to the ninety-nine percent certain life sentence they'd have to face. Both of them. Separated. Was that what they had bargained for? Rid the world of Voldemort and then die in Azkaban fortress while the rest of the wizarding world enjoyed the peace and freedom she'd given back to them?

Severus felt that rush of emptiness again. He wasn't even angry. He wasn't furious. Shouldn't he be angry and furious? Shouldn't he feel more than nothing tinged with only a bit of sadness and disappointment and the fear of losing her one way or the other?

He looked at the peacefully sleeping figure. Yet, she was totally unaware of what was to come. As soon as she regained consciousness…

_My Sariss… Let's not think about those things now. Let's pretend there could be a happily ever after. Let's forget the cruel world for now._

Could they try to run away? Fly away into a faraway land where the skies were always blue and the grass was always green?

Could they?

No. Magic like hers would be easily detected.

And there was the fact that, deep inside, Severus knew that justice must be served. Severus knew he deserved it; he had committed enough crimes to justify any verdict.

Sariss, however, did not. She had become the plaything of the fates. None of it had been her decision. That much was perfectly clear. And she had said something along those lines herself. She had been drawn into the Chamber, drawn to Voldemort, drawn to act out the plan that had formed in her mind; a plan that everyone in his or her right mind would have called ridiculous—yet it had worked. 

And that was commonly called 'Fate'.

_My Sariss…_

For the first time in a week—Was it _only_ a week? Was it a week _already_?—he bent over her and dared to blow a kiss on her lips. Mmm… Soft and sweet. He allowed himself to let his lips linger on hers for a moment because it had been so long since he had done this. Memories washed over him, eliminating every thought about Azkaban and separation from her.

A few more days.

Severus gave her another small dose of Sleeping Potion, smoothed back her hair and rested his palm against her cheek. She felt so different, so much warmer than he was used to, that he almost thought she was feverish again. But she wasn't. She was merely radiant.

He smiled as he sat down in his usual armchair and rested his head on the mattress, the same spot he had been sleeping in for days on end. Gently, he laced his fingers with hers and closed his tired eyes, letting sleep overcome him.

What he wouldn't give for another night in a comfortable bed with her in his arms… 

Sleeping…

He'd lavish every kind of care and attention on her as soon as she woke up…

She was alive…

He'd stay with her until she woke up—or should he slip away when Madam Pomfrey was there and get something for her? A present perhaps? Something to welcome her back? A sign that he had never lost hope—although he had done so frequently (but that she needn't know).

Victorious…

And very likely to spend an as of yet undefined amount of time in Azkaban fortress…

No one could tell how much time would be left before the trial. But he'd pretend they wouldn't be tried and sent to Azkaban. He'd pretend that everything would be fine, and if there were nothing else that Severus Snape was good at, he'd still be the master of pretence. For her sake, he'd start pretending again.

Because practice makes perfect—and practice he'd had for years—although this time he'd have to deceive himself.

**~*~*~**

After another few days during which Dumbledore had often come to the infirmary to look after Sariss and Severus, he felt it was enough.

Sariss looked healthier than ever. Her cheeks were rosy, her lips a healthy strawberry red, her body warm. And she had also gained a bit of her lost weight. Not all of it, but enough to make her more than skin and bone.

"Can't we let her wake up now? How many days has it been? Five, six?" Severus asked. "Do you want to keep her in a coma so they won't come for her?"

Of course, he'd bring it up some time or other. Dumbledore had taken the necessary steps. He had written several letters to several influential people. What else could he do? It was not justice that they should suffer in Azkaban when they had saved so many innocent lives. Only _one_ lawyer had to find a loophole, a single sentence that wasn't clear as Veritaserum… He only hoped they'd find one and that they'd find it fast.

Dumbledore pretended to not have heard Snape's last question. It was no use trying to invoke hope when there might be none. The reply-letters hadn't arrived yet. Not all of them.

"It is enough potion, Poppy. I think it is time to let her decide if she needs more rest," he said. "And I have some very important business to attend to, business that concerns us all."

That said, he left the infirmary. He could almost feel Severus's eyes boring into the back of his head as he did so.

**~*~*~**

Sariss blinked several times; her eyelids seemed so very heavy to her that it took her quite a while to even force them open far enough to be able to see whose hand it was that was holding hers, what was tickling the skin on her bare forearm.

As soon as her mind had processed where she was (Hogwarts; the infirmary—although it was rather dark in there), who was sitting—or rather sleeping—in an armchair next to her bed, his head resting on the mattress, his hand clutching hers (Severus), it came back to her what had happened—although she was a bit unsure about the details, especially the ones concerning the events that had followed her grabbing the Dark Lord by the throat and… She shuddered at the thought—but had it worked?

Severus stirred at her movement and slowly raised his head. He looked weary, dark circles were under his tired eyes; the line between his eyes was clearly visible as his brows were furrowed in an expression of deep worry. But his face lightened up when he saw that her eyes were open.

"Sariss," he whispered, tentatively running a hand over her face, her hair. "Do you know who I am, where you are?"

"Severus," she said softly, raising her hand to clasp it over his. It was quite an effort. It seemed so very heavy. "You look tired, Severus. How are you?"

"I've had some bad nights."

She smiled. "I'm here now."

"That's all I wanted." His voice broke. "I kept thinking I'd lost you, although, after a few very long days, Dumbledore said you'd be alright—."

"I am."

"I've missed you so much. I can't tell you how much I've been missing everything about you."

"What happened?" Sariss asked, her voice hoarse. She must have been out for quite some time…

"You don't remember?"

"Only until a certain point. I still remember that I was going to… _kiss_… him, grabbing him by the throat… and then… darkness, nothing, as though a candle were blown out…" she whispered. It seemed strange to her to speak any louder in an almost completely dark room. Apparently, it was nighttime. A single, lonely candle was floating near the two of them. 

"Do you remember anything in-between?"

"What do you mean?" Sariss asked, confused. It seemed her brain had to re-learn how to follow a conversation.

"You were out for quite some time," he explained, "but I always had the impression that you were somehow _there_. You were fighting, weren't you?" He clasped her hand tightly, as if he'd never let go. "What was it like?"

Sariss thought hard. "It was… it… as if I had left my body for some time. But at some point, I was back in and was pushed out again… And I think I heard your voice—but I can't remember what you said—and I saw you. Does that even make sense? And I saw my body. It was like floating. I thought I was dead and lingering. Then I saw you hold my hand and I saw the tears in your eyes and I refused to leave. I'd never seen you cry over something before. No one had ever cried over me… I forced myself back into my body although something tried to keep me from it. That something managed to tear me out of myself several times. And then I was gone again. And then… Severus, I think it was _him_! I think he wanted my body for himself! Oh, I can't remember… You're probably thinking that I'm talking madness, but I'm afraid he'll get power over me still."

He shook his head ever so slightly. "No. He won't. You did it. You made it," Severus said, a very serious expression on his face. "You… took his soul—and I took his life, as you asked me to. And now you've destroyed him completely."

"Is he dead? Really gone? As in 'never to return'?" Sariss asked, a bit afraid that it might not be over despite everything. When dealing with Voldemort you couldn't be sure enough…

"Yes."

"How can you know?" she breathed. "For all I see is that he might still be here in spirit and try to get me as soon as I fall asleep."

"He won't. You made it. Dumbledore is certain of that. As to the Dark Lord's overdue demise… First, we have his body," Severus answered patiently. "Second…" He pulled up the sleeve to reveal his left forearm.

"The Dark Mark is gone," Sariss whispered, sitting up slowly since her muscles seemed a little sore. She groaned. _A few long days, huh?_ When Severus moved to help her she shook her head no and after a brief struggle, mind over matter, she managed to hoist herself up into a sitting position, her joints protesting with cracking sounds as she did so. Nonetheless, she noticed that she felt… yes, good, surprisingly good—a very strange feeling—and hesitantly reached for the spot on Severus's skin where the Mark had been sitting, livid, the last time she had seen his arm. The skin there was perfect. There wasn't even a faint shadow. Tentatively touching him, she closed her eyes in relief as the realization sank in. "Then it's really over."

"Yes. It's been gone since you'd regained consciousness for a few moments. It's not simply faded as it had when he first fell. It's as if it had never been there," he said, a sad look flitting across his features and a sombre tinge to his voice, as he reached for both her hands and covered them with his. "Sariss…"

She caught on and gulped. "We'll have to suffer the consequences…" Sariss whispered, wide-eyed, squeezing Severus's hand tightly, as though he could save her from Azkaban; but he wouldn't even be able to save himself… Tears threatened as she looked at him; his eyes were firmly on their entwined hands. "I'm so sorry, Severus. I shouldn't have asked you in a moment when you couldn't possibly refuse to—." 

"Shh," he said, embracing her, his fingers splayed against her back as though he wanted to cover as much of her as was humanly possible as he crushed her against his body that was so familiar to her. He rested his head on her shoulder, burying his face in her surprisingly well-kempt hair (He must have been taking care of it during her unexpected time-out). It was a gesture that made Sariss, despite herself, smile and sigh with contentment. She put her arms around him, too. It took her quite some effort to only slide them around his waist and up his back. 

But she felt so very strange… Why was it that she felt so different, so free, so clear in mind all of a sudden? 

"I knew perfectly well what I was doing down there. I knew what it would mean for either one of us if we survived. Perhaps, by doing this, I can forgive myself a few of the things I've done…" Severus continued. "Maybe this is about redemption."

"Despite everything I may have said, Severus, I'm afraid, I'm scared, even more than I was of Voldemort," she said, her voice muffled as she still held onto him as tightly as she could, which wasn't that tightly after all. "Afraid."

"I know. So am I," he whispered into her hair.

"I don't want to end up there. They can't do that. We killed the worst thing the wizarding world has ever seen. Please, Severus, please. Don't let them."

"Dumbledore will speak for us. I don't know whether this will be enough."

She drew back a bit to be able to look into his unfathomable eyes. "What do you think it's going to be like in Azkaban?" she asked, shivering at the mere thought of it.

"I know what it used to be like. It was only a few days…" he trailed off. It was weird. If it hadn't been for the slight tremble in his voice, Sariss wouldn't have known that he actually meant, 'I was there. It was worse than death.'

_I won't survive Azkaban,_ Sariss thought. _The mere thought of it—with or without the Dementors—makes me want to die. I should be dead. I'll die in Azkaban and he won't even know unless they carry my dead body past his cell. Would he even recognize me?_

Sariss felt her eyes sting. Hot tears slithered down her face.

"There are no longer any Dementors there. It won't be that bad, I'm sure—unless they are allowed to return. And I fear they will," he said, not only his voice betraying him. He clearly didn't believe a great deal of what he'd just said. But either way, his voice washed over her like a thousand caresses. She couldn't remember a time when his voice hadn't been there, all of a sudden. 

"But either way it's going to be enough to be separated from you, you know? I don't want that, Sariss. I… I love you," he whispered as if he were speaking a prayer. "I want you to know that this is the truth. I should have said this much earlier and much more often."

"I love you, too. Much more than I can say," Sariss was very much aware that desperation had crept into her voice, but seemed unable to make her voice sound firm or just remotely steady. She raised her hands to his face, then, after a few seconds of locking her blurred, tearstained gaze with his, she closed her eyes to hold back more tears, running her fingertips over the contours of his face, like a blind man would do, so as to never forget what he looked like, what he felt like… 

He didn't even commentate on the fact that she was crying again. Maybe he had gotten used to it? Maybe he knew that her tears were not for herself alone, that they were for them both?

He mimicked her action, gently running his thumbs over her cheekbones, touching her eyes, her lips, cupping her face after a while—and Sariss knew what it meant when he did that. He had always done that, almost every time they had shared a kiss—and he kissed her now, very tenderly, as though he had never even touched her before. But Sariss wanted more. Who knew how long they would take to come and separate them for a very long time, perhaps forever? And thus she slid her arms around his neck, opening her mouth under his and drawing him into a kiss as passionate and intense as she could manage, weakened that she was, melting into him, imprinting her lips on his as well as his on hers.

She was drowning in his scent and taste. If she had her way, this kiss would last for all eternity… 

When they finally broke the kiss, Severus kissed her forehead, pulled her against his chest, gently smoothing her hair back from her face, and rested his hand on the spot on her throat where her pulse was beating, running his thumb along her jaw line over and over again as he held her there. Sariss could feel her own heartbeat against his hand.

"All my life I had nothing—until you came…" he whispered as though she weren't listening. "I am going to lose you, Sariss. After all that we've been through, after everything that you survived, I am still going to lose you."

She didn't answer; she only nestled into his embrace, trying to memorize everything about him, even the scent of his robes and the rhythm of his breathing, yes, even the sound of his heartbeat if something like that was possible at all.

Both of them didn't know how long they sat there—minutes or hours, it didn't matter—in utter silence, when the door of the infirmary creaked open and the headmaster stepped in.

"Ah, so Sleeping Beauty has finally awakened!" he cried out cheerfully at the sight of the two of them, making Sariss blush despite the rather grave situation, while Severus gently extricated himself from her—granted, very weak—grasp.

"How are you, my dear?" Dumbledore asked, pulling her into a hug that clearly expressed that this was not meant as the usual meaningless greeting to which no one really expected an honest answer anyway.

"I'm fine," Sariss croaked when he had released her again, and wiped away her tears. "Never been better—as strange as this might sound—but for the crying bit." 

"Ah, but it doesn't. You see, something quite remarkable occurred when you did what you did…" he began, lighting some more candles with some flicks of his wrist. "But perhaps I should start at the beginning of the explanation that I have for all of this…"

Sariss nodded and sniffed softly.

"Now, how to explain all of this… Hmm…" he muttered thoughtfully. "The effects of the Angel Potion combined with the Delego Facultatem Spell are very well known by everyone present, aren't they?"

Severus and Sariss exchanged a look and then nodded slowly.

"Right then, as far as I can tell now, it is the case that they were somehow connected; one could not work without the other, which has as a result that part of Voldemort's soul and his power were directly linked to the Dementor bit that was inside of you—." 

"Excuse me, did you say '_was_'?"

"What? Oh, yes. I said it _was_ inside of you, since, you see, it is gone. That's why you feel so good… You're not even cold, are you?"

Sariss thought for a moment then shook her head and said a very slow "No…" She wiped her face again.

Dumbledore smiled. "For the first time since the day he came for you his shadow doesn't loom over your soul."

"But what happened really?" Severus joined the conversation. "You refused to—." 

"I haven't forgotten, Severus. And I promise I'll tell you everything I know as well as what I suspected, which might just be the same thing," the headmaster said patiently. "But we have to go back to the night of Voldemort's first fall… As we all know, the Dark Lord couldn't be killed completely back then, he had only been weakened, but why that was so, we didn't know until a very short time ago. The point is, Sariss, that Voldemort gave a part of his soul to you, so when his spirit was ripped from his body by the curse rebounding off little Harry he did not dissolve into nothingness—or wherever it is that the really dead people go—because a part of him still lived on—." 

"Inside of me," Sariss finished for him.

"Exactly. However, something very extraordinary happened when you did—pardon my choice of words—what you were created for. By taking his soul from him—the part that he still possessed—you united it with the part he had administered to you all those years ago. His soul became whole but couldn't go back into his body because it was locked inside of you no matter how hard it fought against you. Then, because of the Dementor part, you devoured it—not a pretty sight, I can tell you."

"Then I'm actually glad that I don't remember," Sariss stated dryly, chancing looks at Dumbledore and Severus.

"Only by uniting the parts of his soul inside of you he could be vanquished," Dumbledore continued. "In creating you he created his survival of seventeen years ago—but he left you unfinished because you fought. He couldn't take you with him and finish it—whatever it would have been that would have been needed. The part of his soul, it was never embedded in your soul. That's why you were his survival back then as well as his ultimate destruction—twelve, I think… yes—twelve days ago. In the process of uniting and destroying his soul, the spell he'd cursed you with and the effect of the potion he'd administered to you were reversed." He smiled broadly, his blue eyes twinkling even more merrily than ever before. "You're perfectly normal now—for a witch anyway—as though he had never come for you—at least physically. That means that there might be a few things you have grown so accustomed to might not work anymore—like, say, wandless magic."

"I can't do it anymore?"

"Try it. You might just have it in you, even without his powers. You're the heiress of two of the Founders. That should count for something, don't you think?"

Sariss looked around for an object to summon. Her gaze fell on her wand, which was sitting on the bedside table. Someone—Harry Potter had used it last—must have put it there… She lifted her hand, closed her eyes, took a deep breath and concentrated hard. Then she opened her eyes again to see if something was happening… 

Nothing at first. She tried concentrating harder and the wand started trembling. Then the thought occurred to her that she might just have to really use a spell to summon it although that had not been a strict necessity earlier on, and she whispered, "Accio, wand." At that, the wand flew right into her hand.

"Wonderful! Excellent!" Dumbledore exclaimed. "Perhaps it's true what they say, practice does make perfect. And you've had very much practice, I daresay."

"What else has changed?"

"We'll see…" Dumbledore said and patted her hand. "Oh, and I have received a letter this afternoon—with some very important news for the two of you. Silly me. I'm getting old after all. I had almost forgotten—."

"The Ministry people are acting fast when there's no need to, aren't they?" Severus muttered.

Sariss sadly shook her head, in denial of what was to come. Yet, she didn't regret that she had rid the world of this monster. If only there had been another way… "When will they be here?" she asked softly, dreading the answer. Most likely, he'd reply 'in the morning' or something like that…

"But no, my dears, no one is going to take you anywhere without your consent. You see, neither one of you will be tried because of what happened down there." Dumbledore twinkled merrily as Sariss and Severus threw each other nervous glances and smiled if only slightly, incredulous but happy—if only cautiously happy. "Is that not a highly pleasant surprise?"

Snape spoke up first, the smile fading, replaced by an expression of puzzlement. "Why? It means Azkaban when you cast an Unforgivable, when you kill. And I did, you know this, headmaster, and not just this once down there. I told you…"

"That almost sounds as though you wanted to be thrown into Azkaban." 

"I deserve it…" Severus said, lacing his fingers through Sariss's as she'd reached for his hand. She said nothing; she only clasped his hand as tightly as she could. He needn't be told in words. He'd know what she wanted to say.

"No, you don't," Dumbledore said aloud what Sariss had been only thinking. "If anyone here must be forgiven, it is you. You redeemed yourself a long time ago. When the whole world forgives you, don't you think it's time to finally forgive yourself for giving in to the Darkness once? You've found the Light again. Not many in your situation would have found the strength to do so—but you did. You saved far more lives than you destroyed—and you rescued and supported a lost soul until it was found again, thus rediscovering your own."

Severus took a deep breath. Then he nodded, bringing Sariss's hand to his lips to kiss it. She closed her eyes for a moment, simply enjoying the caress. "What about her?" he murmured, looking at Dumbledore over her hand that he was still holding so close to his face that Sariss could feel his breath.

Dumbledore turned towards her. "Your case, Sariss, has been much more complicated; yet it has also been much simpler in a certain respect."

"I beg your pardon?" Sariss asked, confused at what he'd just said.

"You see, this has never happened before. There is not a single law that would fit the recent events in any way. No Dementor has ever been put on trial for performing the _Kiss_ on someone. And no wizard—or witch," he added with a wink, "—has ever performed the _Kiss_ for more or less obvious reasons."

"So I'm not going to be sent to Azkaban," she said slowly, letting it sink in. She had to say it herself to believe it was true. "I won't be forced to—."

"No, certainly not. On the contrary…" Dumbledore interrupted her, got up and took a few steps towards the door. "Oh, I believe this is yours," he said, smiling, and held out a wand for Severus to take, which he did. Had they taken Severus's wand? It must have been a very close shave… "I'll leave you two alone now to do—whatever it is you do when I'm not in the proximity," the headmaster added, throwing them a somewhat wicked glance over his shoulder.

Their faces, that had seconds ago only worn expressions of great relief, blushed furiously, somewhat shocked at what he insinuated—and that they heard something like this come from him. They heard Dumbledore chuckle as he closed the door behind him. 

**~*~*~**

Sariss started sniggering as the door snapped shut. "He must have been waiting his whole life to say that gratuitous line…" she grinned at Severus. Then a thoughtful look crossed her face and she bit her lip like she always did when she was thinking or… up to something. "Hmm. I wonder what could have given him the impression that we'd be _doing something_."

It was strange to see her smile so broadly when only a few minutes ago she had looked as though she would break down any second. Now, although her eyes were red and swollen, she looked as though she'd burst with life and love and happiness…

"I, too, have no idea," Severus answered in a deadly serious voice. But he deliberately betrayed himself by his actions. He placed her arms around his neck and drew her into an embrace, his face now only an inch or so away from hers. "Let's try and find out what exactly he was talking about."

And he kissed her as her hands cupped his face, then moved into his hair. He knew she just loved entwining her fingers in his hair just as much he liked to completely entangle himself in hers and—he had to admit—he liked it, too.

Sariss sighed into his mouth—a sure sign that she enjoyed every single fraction of a second—and melted into his arms the way she'd always done it. Her lips were searing. The heat of her body seeped through the silken nightgown. Her hands left trails of fire on his neck. She felt the complete opposite of what she'd felt only a fortnight ago. But in all likelihood, that was only the change. She was still as soft as he remembered her to be. She still fit into his arms as if she belonged there. And, most importantly, she still wanted to be there.

They would not be separated. They would not be sent to Azkaban. They would be able to be together, to share kisses, to make love whenever they felt like it—.

"What do you think you're doing, Severus Snape? She needs rest!" Madam Pomfrey's voice disturbed the silence. She must have entered without the two of them noticing.

Sariss and Severus almost jumped apart and looked at her—but not for long. Sariss turned her head back to Severus and gave him one of those slow looks—meaning that she slowly raised her eyes to his, looking so very deep into his… Her eyes had kept the emerald-coloured ring around the now very much dilated pupils—Avada Kedavra-green…

And the little temptress was biting her lip again!

"You two are even worse than the students," Madam Pomfrey rambled on. "The scenes I've witnessed—."

She must have noticed that Sariss and Severus were still flirting, completely absorbed in each other.

"Oh, get a room!" she shouted in despair.

"Splendid idea," Severus said, looking deep into those green pools of Sariss's eyes and raising his eyebrow. She giggled. How lovely she was now, even more lovely than before all of this had happened. Her eyes sparkling, her face radiant, her whole body language completely different, much more relaxed and open. In essence: Even a blind man could have seen how free she was now.

"Then I may leave?" Sariss asked, chancing a sideways glance at Madam Pomfrey.

"Yes, you may, dear. But be careful. You were out for twelve days, remember? You've been through quite something. I almost thought we'd lost you…" Madam Pomfrey apparently had to blink back a tear or two as she said that. "I don't think you'll be able to walk on your own just yet."

"Oh, don't give me that, Poppy. I've never felt better," Sariss said. "Twelve days," she repeated.

She drew back the blankets and breathed an obvious sigh of relief that she wore one of her own nightgowns and not the hospital stuff, throwing Severus a glance of gratefulness. Then, she heavily swung her legs over the edge of the bed and lowered her feet to the floor, wincing at its coldness. Probing her balance, she stood still for a few seconds. "See? I'm going to be fine," she said, taking some careful steps—or rather she had intended to do so. Her knees buckled as soon as she had released her hold on the bed.

Severus quickly caught her and helped her sit down again. "Can't remember the difference between floor and ceiling, can you?" he said, taking off his cloak and handing it to her to put on. She couldn't walk through the castle only clad in a—at second look—rather flimsy but nonetheless very lovely nightgown, could she?

She fastened the clasp of the cloak, then looked up again, wrinkled her nose at him and rolled her eyes. "Well, alright, then I'm _not_ going to _walk_ out of here—I do not think I can walk _anywhere_." And throwing him a pleading glance, she bit her lip and added. "Er… If you'd be so kind as to…"

"Most certainly." He swept her up into his arms, a position and location that she must have grown used to by now. "Where to, Miss?"

"My place or yours?" she drawled. 

Madam Pomfrey shook her head. A smile had crept on her face.

"Yours then," Severus said. "I'm afraid my chambers haven't been heated for almost a fortnight. You'd freeze some very valuable parts of your body if I took you there."

The hint of a grin tugged on Sariss's lips. "Alright, but remember, I'm not responsible for the state they might be in. The dust bunnies must be throwing parties in there already."

"Well, then we'll spoil theirs and make one of our own…" he replied, heading for the exit. "Er… if you'd be so kind, Poppy—?" He jerked his head in direction of the door.

"Of course. I wouldn't want you to drop my patient," Madam Pomfrey said, opening the door for them.

As soon as Severus had stepped through the doorway, Sariss stated, "Now I'm not your patient anymore, Poppy. Thank you."

Madam Pomfrey smiled, nodded and closed the door. After a second, the door opened again. "And you, Severus Snape, take _good_ care of her, will you?" she shouted after them, sternly. "If a single complaint about your behaviour reaches my ears—." 

Severus turned around and raised an eyebrow. "When have I _ever_ done anything else than taken good care of her?" he said, trying to sound highly offended. The nurse gave him a dirty look. He rolled his eyes. "Yes, mother," he added with a smirk.

Poppy tsked and closed the door again—a bit louder than strictly necessary, perhaps—whereas Sariss snorted and broke into another fit of the giggles. Oh, how her soft laughter echoed through the corridors, how her eyes sparkled, how warm she was in his arms—and how very light and frail. She had lost not only the strength the Angel Potion had given her, she had indeed lost quite some weight during the last days; it had not only been Severus's first impression—what with all this soul-destroying-business and fighting against the Dark part of herself wasn't much of a surprise. She had been very lucky to survive—and Severus felt he, too, was very lucky because of this. Yes, he was a very lucky and thus a very happy man. Fortuna had finally smiled on him, on the two of them. Life wasn't that bad; it had improved considerably. In fact, life was good—.

The door opened once more. "And if you bully her into any… um… exhausting activities—you know, ones she would most likely _not_ complain about—." 

"Who? Me?" Severus asked, trying to look innocent and mildly offended that she really thought he'd be capable of _mistreating_ one of her patients so _badly_.

"Poppy, I'm here, don't talk to Severus about me as though I weren't listening," Sariss said, suppressing her laughter. "I can't even _walk_ on my own, for heaven's sake!"

"As far as I can tell from what I've just witnessed inside this room, I wouldn't put anything beyond you."

Sariss threw her a dirty look. 

Madam Pomfrey groaned. "I'm trying to do my job and do I hear a sincere thank you? No."

"Thank you very much, Madam." 

"Couldn't have made it without you, Madam Pomfrey."

"Certainly not," she answered sternly. Then a smile crept across her face. "You're welcome—and now leave before something else crosses my mind." She closed the door again, hopefully for good, this time. "You need rest!" Madam Pomfrey shouted through the closed door, and Sariss rolled her eyes.

Severus shook his head with silent laughter as Sariss started giggling softly against his throat. Yes, life was indeed good for a change.

He mentally crossed his fingers so that this state may be one to last, as he headed for her chambers. They were only a short distance away.

Once they were inside, he asked. "Where to now? The sofa or the bed?"

"What time is it?"

"Almost midnight… The bedroom it is then."

"Exactly," she yawned. As much as she had slept, she was still exhausted.

Severus sat her down into an armchair while he pulled back the covers. "No dust bunny party after all," he stated.

"Then you should perhaps check your chambers…" Sariss said.

"Oh, I have been there. Soon after Dumbledore said you'd be fine, I thought I could leave you alone for a few minutes. I had a few things to do and I wouldn't have wanted you to faint when you laid eyes upon me, unwashed and unshaved as I was—and I was also very afraid that you'd turn my hair pink…" he trailed off, turning and walking back to her.

Sariss smirked. "I might not have recognized you, then?"

"Possibly," he replied, picking her up again and setting her onto the bed. With a bit of effort she shrugged off the cloak and settled into a very comfortable looking position.

Severus tugged her in and then picked up the cloak and threw it over the back of the armchair. Then he turned to leave, to let her sleep, and looking back once more, he whispered, "Good night, love." 

"You're leaving, Severus?" She sat up, so that she faced him, and patted the empty space on the mattress next to her. "Come here. Stay with me. Please."

"You need rest."

"And I intend to rest, really, I promise. I'm up to nothing, I swear." He gave her a disbelieving look. "In the state I'm in I couldn't even properly wrap—." 

"Stop. This is hard enough without you making all those images pop up inside my head."

"Just kidding." She smiled tiredly. "Please, Severus, I just want to be with you. I want you to hold me, to wake me up if I should dream…"

"Alright," he said and took off his robe. Then he slipped under the blankets and pulled her close. She settled into the sleeping position they seemed to have mutely agreed to—and actually slid her hand inside his shirt, which he had kept on. "Sariss, what have we agreed to?"

"I don't remember," she mumbled.

Her hand was so soft and warm…

"You're such a wench. Playing with me like that. I should have left when I still had the chance…" he mock-scolded her.

"I know. I am _so_ depraved."

"Smouldering temptress," he teasingly accused her.

"Smouldering?" she muttered. "That's something new."

"Not that I'd want you to be any different—but Madam Pomfrey will have my head if she notices any signs on you that could point to the fact that you haven't been resting enough… Such as a look of extreme satisfaction, for example."

"Finally! Caught in the act! I always knew your ego was _way_ too big for you." Sariss giggled and put her other hand over his mouth before he could answer the very reply this statement desperately ached for. Severus smiled. If she'd given him the chance to do so, she wouldn't have been able to stop laughing, as she seemed rather giggly at the moment. Perhaps an after-effect of the diluted Sleeping Draught? 

After she had composed herself again, she added in a voice that sounded perfectly innocent, "Then I'll do my very best not to affect your self-control too deeply." She shifted to remove her hand from inside his shirt, but he caught it before she could do so. It was nice. Extremely nice.

"I'd rather have your hand here where it's under control than anywhere else. And don't you dare shift your weight an inch," he threatened playfully, placing her hand back on his chest and holding it there. "I can't believe that even in your exhausted state you—." 

"Just kidding. But I do wish I weren't. If I had the strength to do what my mind seems to deliberately torment me with…"

"Same here; believe me."

"Do you think it'll feel different now that I'm normal?" she asked softly. A certain shyness was back. He could hardly wait to kiss it away. Time and time again and deliciously slowly, bordering on decadence, he'd explore her anew…

Severus mentally shook himself. Those thoughts were doing him not much good now—and wouldn't for quite a few days.

He settled for a mildly amused, "I don't think you'll ever be exactly normal, Sariss."

"You know what I mean."

"Yes, I know. And I'm telling you this again. I never really cared about what you were. And now to me it isn't of that great an importance that you're _normal,_ as you put it," he said. "But I'm the happiest man ever as long as you're there. No matter what and who you are. I think what I really mean is, I'm happy when you're happy."

"You know, people don't always know when they're happy, but I think I am."

"Good night, Sariss, sleep well. I love you." Every time he said it out loud, it seemed to sound so strange to his ears… 

Strange, because, amazingly, it was true.

"I'll try… And thank you."

"What for?"

"Missing me."

**Next chapter:**

Sariss's recovery proceeds quickly; Severus treats her like a very much breakable object. Poppy declares Sariss fit for attending a celebration. Sirius, Remus and a lot of Weasleys. And Severus dances the tango…


	36. No Regrets At All

**Author's note: Thanks for reviewing go to **harryforeva** and **OtherHiccup**. *huggles***

Chapter 35: No Regrets at All

**_Yes, I've done my evil   
I've done my good   
…And there's no regrets at all_**

_—__HIM: You are the One_

Three days later, Sariss felt much stronger again, meaning she could already walk into the study and slump into an armchair by the fireplace alone—not that it wasn't nice to be carried by Severus where she wanted to be taken to—or for that matter, _not_ wanted to be taken to. One of the places she'd rather not see again in the following years was—among others—the hospital wing where, during the time of her recovery, she was supposed to show up every day in the evening.

Madam Pomfrey had requested that Sariss come to the infirmary at regular intervals so she could be given another potion if necessary. She had taken one look at the expression on Sariss's face and then she'd asked, "Getting bored, are you? That's a good sign. Only people who are perfectly healthy get bored when they are pampered like you are." That remark had earned her a smirk from her patient.

"So I can tell Severus now that it's not necessary to spoon-feed me any longer?" Sariss asked in a perfectly serious voice.

Madam Pomfrey had a look on her face that couldn't quite be defined. It hovered somewhere between astonishment and horror. "Tell me you're kidding. Tell me she's kidding, Severus." She pleadingly looked at the Potions master who only shrugged and smirked. 

"Okay. I'm kidding," Sariss said.

"Seriously," said Madam Pomfrey.

"I am serious."

"You are obviously not. I always thought you were Sariss," Severus said, a tinge of horror in his voice. "What have I gotten myself into?"

"Come on, that joke is so old, it has a beard longer than Dumbledore's," Sariss muttered.

"Couldn't resist. A joke about Black's always worth the time."

"You're such a child sometimes."

"Why, you're a baby."

"Am not."

"I remember an occasion when you admitted it very freely."

"That was just on the whim of the moment."

"Now, now, children," Madam Pomfrey good-naturedly put a stop to this not so very eloquent conversation. "You're as good as new, my dear. I'd say a few more days of a little rest and a bit of fresh air will make sure you're fit as a fiddle when the celebrations are on."

"Celebrations?" Severus and Sariss asked as one.

"Yes, the headmaster announced it at breakfast. He might not have found the time to inform you about it yet since he's been quite busy lately. On Saturday, there will be a huge feast celebrating the fall of the Dark Lord. It will also be the graduation party that couldn't take place earlier for… um… quite obvious reasons… Many people will come to congratulate you and—."

"I don't want to be congratulated. I don't even want to think about any of this. I'm just glad it's over."

"My dear, what you did was something incredibly brave and—."

"What I did was something incredibly stupid! Only I was too blind or too thick to realize that! I don't know what came over me."

"Two out of three, love," Severus said. "It was stupid and you didn't exactly care if it was or wasn't. But as to what came over you… I'd say the fates came over you." He rolled his eyes. "I sound like Trelawney, that old bat…"

Sariss sighed. "Remember the conversation we once had?"

"Which one?"

"The one about locking ourselves up in a nice and comfortable room and never ever come out again. I'm all for it."

"It won't be that bad," Madam Pomfrey tried to reassure her.

"It will. I just hope it doesn't get as bad as it went with Harry Potter, everyone wanting to shake my hand and all."

"Oh, I think you'll be mentioned in the same sentence. The only advantage you have is that you don't have a scar on your forehead—and that you have a 'scowling and sneering Potions master' with you," Severus muttered dryly. "I could put the sneer back on for you…"

"That could indeed prove an advantage. With your scowl firmly in place it's unlikely for anyone to ever dare come near me," Sariss said in a tone of voice that equalled Severus's. "I just hope they realize that it wasn't me alone. You and Harry could draw a bit of attention to yourselves."

"I can almost hear Moody, 'So, Snape, gotten lucky again. Escaped Azkaban for a second time, have you?'" Severus gave a quite accurate impression of Mad-Eye Moody's growling and rasping voice.

"Would you do me a favour?"

"Anything."

"Shout 'Constant vigilance!' in that voice."

Severus rolled his eyes. "What is it with you? Always looking for a good laugh, are you?"

"Part of my charm."

"As entertaining as it is, my dear Professors…"

"Yes, yes, it's alright. I can hear Dumbledore already telling me that it's got to be and the whole wizarding society will be present and thus demands the presence of everyone who only had a tiny little bit to do with Voldemort's downfall—Sorry, Poppy."

"Nothing to be sorry for. He's gone and he won't come back, no matter if you say his name or not." The nurse smiled. "And now go and see to it that you're up and about when the celebrations are scheduled to take place."

"Up and about, huh? This is going to be one hell of a party."

"Why, of course, it will be! Everyone will be in high spirits—and don't look at me that way. You'll see it's going to be fun as soon as the official part is over."

"The official part?" Severus and Sariss asked in unison.

"Some Ministry stuff, I think. Dumbledore wouldn't tell any details yet. There has still some planning to be done. Poor Professor Flitwick will be quite busy with the decorations. But, gods bless him, he enjoys those things so much."

Sariss got up, gesturing for Severus to assist her since it would involve a—in Sariss's condition—long walk and an all too steep staircase (with trickstep!) if she wanted to reach her rooms, and that was her intention.

"Good night, Poppy," Sariss said.

"See me again tomorrow," the nurse answered.

"Yes, yes, yes," Sariss muttered. Every day. Again and again. Over and over, she was told that. 'See me again tomorrow.' She'd heard it for the third time now—or was it the fourth? It seemed that she was being pampered like a china doll. With Severus, it wasn't any better. He touched her as if she'd go up in a wisp of smoke or shatter into pieces. And that when all Sariss wanted was a crushing embrace. He was too gentle, his kisses too tentative, his touch unbearably tender… Hopefully, it would get better as time progressed and Severus realized that he didn't have to be excessively careful.

The good thing about her current state however was that, if he chose to carry her—and he did—he would have to hold her tight, for Sariss didn't have the strength to hold onto him when she had all but used up her slowly returning strength by walking only a few yards.

So it had been the previous days, so it would be the following days.

**~*~*~**

Sariss woke up. She felt instinctively, even before she'd opened her eyes, that something was missing, or rather some_one_.

Had Severus gotten up and hadn't wanted to wake her, let her rest? "I don't need rest," Sariss muttered and swung her legs out of the bed. With a soft groan, she heaved herself to her feet and chanced a look at the clock. Nine forty-five. Of course, Severus would let her sleep; especially when one considered that it was Saturday already and the celebrations would be taking place in the early evening.

Sariss decided to take a shower. She went into the bathroom, showered quickly, wrapped a large fluffy towel around herself, washed her face, brushed her teeth and released her hair from the bun she'd had it in so it wouldn't get wet during the shower. She had already washed it the day before. It had taken all afternoon to dry properly. Now that she couldn't dry it with a snap of her fingers anymore, but needed her wand and a spell to do it, she found it a terribly trying task. But it looked so pretty as it fell down on either side of her face in long dark ripplets that she just couldn't bring herself to cut it. Not an inch if it wasn't strictly necessary. She hadn't forgiven herself the last time she'd cut off a foot of its length. It had of course grown back but nonetheless, it would be a sacrilege if Sariss made the same mistake again. She also had a feeling that Severus wouldn't forgive her. He'd always made a point of how much he liked to brush her hair for her if it was too much of a bother (which in fact it wasn't, thanks to the charmed brush).

Sariss applied a bit of make-up to her face. Only a bit. She'd have to do it again before the party or whatever one was supposed to call the spectacle that would be taking place later. So it was no use to do more than usually. Especially when one considered the fact that Severus insisted she take her meals in her rooms, pointing out that she'd be bombarded with questions if she went to the Great Hall at mealtimes—or, for that matter, at any time ("And that when you're supposed to recover.").

When they had left the castle for a walk or so, they had done that at nighttimes. It was June and thus quite warm. More than once, Sariss had fallen asleep with her head resting on Severus's shoulder when they'd been sitting at the lakeshore in mutual silence. He'd then carried her back inside the castle. She'd woken once when a door had fallen shut and he'd had a hard time opening it with her on his hands.

Sariss left the bathroom, went for the wardrobe, and got dressed, blowing a little kiss in direction of where Oberon was sitting.

As she was of the opinion that she'd mourned everything she'd lost long enough and as the school year was over too, she thought she might as well wear something that was not black for a change. She chose a very dark red dress with transparent long sleeves. The mirror told her that the colour went well with her eyes. Oberon, too, seemed to croak his approval.

But hadn't that particular dress been quite tight when she'd put in on the last time? That had been long ago. She could hardly remember. If so, her clothes, particularly the dresses she'd always liked to wear underneath her robe, would be loose-fitting now or at least not as tight-fitting as they had been once. But it was all right. Because of the way they were cut and made, they'd still be clinging to her body in the right places.

"I've become quite vain since I've been with Severus, don't you think?" she asked her reflection.

"I should receive some payment for reflecting you," it replied dryly.

"No comment."

Sariss stepped into her shoes. They were black and rather velvety.

The sound of the door being opened and closed.

Muffled footsteps.

**Someone's trying to be very quiet here…**

_Guess who?_

The footsteps stopped. Sariss listened. Nothing.

She changed a sideways glance at the mirror and saw Severus leaning in the doorframe, quite casually, watching her.

Sariss smiled. "Why are you just standing there?"

"Is that a crime? If so, I'm afraid I'll have to plead guilty as charged."

"Then your sentence will be to stop just staring at me," Sariss said, ambling towards him. 

"I take it you're feeling fine."

"Master of the obvious." She snaked her arms around his neck and brushed her lips over his.

Wasn't he supposed to draw her closer now?

Sariss drew back. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"What's that behind your back?" she asked sternly.

He smirked. "Curiosity killed the cat, my love."

"I'm not curious what it is. I just want to know why it's so important that it keeps you from sweeping me off the ground and drown me in a kiss…" She pouted. "You haven't kissed me senseless for almost a week."

"That's because Madam Pomfrey ordered rest. You know where those kisses tend to end…"

"And it isn't just that you don't want to be watched by my friend Oberon anymore?"

"As long as he doesn't tell anybody any details… Who would believe him, anyway?" The hint of a grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Well, one of us must display some self-control."

"Exactly." She crossed her arms and then muttered. "As if I had no self-control…"

That was so frustrating!

"Listen, I'm perfectly fine. I won't break if you put your arms around me. I assure you." 

She cupped his face in her hands. "I didn't even break when you almost crushed me out of desperation up in the infirmary. Put away whatever it is you're holding there. I don't care. Drop it. And then…"

She began to kiss him in earnest. _Let's see if his self-control can withstand that…_

A small thudding noise indicated that he had dropped something of not very great weight. Sariss sighed when he finally did as she had requested. Blessed drowsiness began to envelop her…

Severus drew back. "Not fair," he complained.

"But very effective," Sariss answered. "Do I look any worse for wear because of that all too small interlude?"

"Absolutely not." He bent to retrieve the dropped object. It was a parcel. A quite unobtrusive parcel. 

"Oh, please. It can't be that important." 

_Never judge a book by its cover…_

"You're right. It's not _that_ important. But…" He picked up again what he had been holding behind his back. 

He nervously shuffled his feet. Severus Snape actually shuffled his feet!

"Um… This is for you. A present for you."

Sariss suppressed a grin. He looked like a schoolboy, all of a sudden.

"Severus, you shouldn't have," she said as he held it out for her to take. "I don't think—."

"Don't you dare refuse to accept it. It was really hard to acquire," he said severely. "I'd feel most insulted if you did," he added. "It arrived just this morning. Just in time for 'the gallows'. A nice coincidence."

Among themselves, they had taken to calling the party that would be taking place later that day 'the gallows'. They thought it quite appropriate a term.

"What is it?" Sariss asked. He had managed to arouse her curiosity.

"Well, open it." His black eyes glinted expectantly. "I so want to know if you like it."

"This is like Christmas," she said.

"You could regard it as a belated Christmas present, of course. Or as a very large and unconventional get-well card…" he said. "Hurry up," Severus prompted. "The tension's killing me."

She smiled and deliberately slowly—just to annoy him—unwrapped whatever it would be that was sitting inside…

It was a smaller package, wearing the label of Gladrags, Paris, London, Hogsmeade.

Sariss held her breath and opened it. A sea of dark purple silk and satin was inside. She carefully eased it out of the flat box and held it before herself. It was a dream of a dress; in the light, it rippled in all shades of purple, like water made solid. It was simple and elegant. And so soft and smooth…

"I don't know what to say…" Sariss began. "You really listened to my ramblings about trivialities such as this… It's as if you'd plucked it out of my mind. For years, I've been looking for one just like it. Transfigured clothes are simply not the same. How did you—?"

"That will be my secret," he said. "As to what you could say—."

"Thank you," Sariss said, letting the dress fall onto the bed, and threw herself into Severus's arms and kissed him long and sweet until he pushed her back a little. "It's beautiful—Do you want me to try it on now?"

"If you want to show it to me… Although I must say that you do look very lovely already. You could charm the scales off a dragon."

_I'd rather charm something else off somebody else…_

"I think I can wait until tonight to see it on you."

"Coward. You just don't want to take the risk that I might start undressing right before your eyes. It might exceed your resolve…"

"Maybe. Maybe not."

Sariss had to admit that he had appeared much too level-headed all the time. Pity, she couldn't read his emotions anymore.

But fact was that every fibre of her body ached to be touched by him, curious as to what it would feel like, perhaps even a bit afraid. Why was he pushing her away with the feeble excuse that Madam Pomfrey had ordered her to rest? Shouldn't Sariss herself be the one to decide when she was all right again?

_As if I were a child and couldn't tell myself._

What if he didn't want her anymore? What if—?

"You do love me, don't you?" she stuttered. "Don't you want me anymore?"

He took her face firmly between his hands; his burning eyes bore into hers. "I love you so much that it hurts all over me," he said and kissed her much longer and harder than he had for days, crushing her between his body and the wardrobe door. In fact, the last time he'd kissed her like that had been in the infirmary just after she'd woken from her unintended time-out.

Oh by Merlin, how she wanted to be touched! How could he ever have displayed such an air of indifference when they'd spent their nights in the same room, in the same bed, even—or so it seemed—occupying the same spot on the mattress, as they had slept with their arms around each other, legs entangled?

The memory of his emotions, ever-present as they had seemed, was fading all too quickly. It was a nuisance, as much as it had been when she'd sensed simply everything. It had always felt so good to let herself be enveloped by his want and need and love. It had always been mostly _his_ desire she'd felt—or so she had thought. Now she felt _her own_ naked emotions—now that her mind had grown accustomed to the fact that it didn't receive anything from outside anymore—the multitude of her own emotions was overwhelming.

When he broke the kiss, it felt like a bucket of cold water. 

"Don't stop," Sariss said, as Severus ran his thumb over her tingling lips, keeping her eyes closed, waiting for him to resume where he'd left off.

"Kiss me again…" 

She almost wished she had her former strength back. But no. It was better that she'd left all that behind. She had received a life instead. A normal life with all the inconveniences that came with it—and the advantages.

It was a life she could feel; and it was full of warmth and love. And both were her own. They were hers to give with or without taking.

If only he'd waver in his resolve not to—how had Poppy put it? Ah, yes. His resolve not to 'bully her into any exhausting activities she would most likely not object to'…

"I'm supposed to see Madam Pomfrey in the afternoon, so she can officially declare that I'm perfectly fine and in perfect shape to attend 'the gallows'," Sariss whispered. "I think I'll see if I can fly the distance between here and the hospital wing."

"If you do that she'll either have your head or shove you out for the simple reason that the infirmary is for the infirm which she'll not count you among anymore," he answered. He smiled slightly, seeming to be drinking her in with his eyes instead of his mouth. "And if she gives you clearance to jump and run as you like…"

"She will, believe me. She will."

**As if you needed to jump and run anyway…**

_Quite the opposite, I daresay._

**~*~*~**

The Great Hall was decked out as if it were Easter and Christmas on the very same day. The House Colours and Symbols were blazing in bright colours; the enchanted ceiling displayed an orange and red cloudless summer evening sky. 

Many people who were usually not there were present. Parents, brothers, sisters, friends. Sariss could make out Mundungus Fletcher, Remus Lupin and Sirius Black who was sitting by his godson's side. 

_Probably he's telling him to stop looking for trouble—as if that boy needed to go looking for it_. Ever since he had been a year old, trouble in the shape of Voldemort and his followers had been after him.

What was usually the Gryffindor table was now occupied by the Gryffindors as well as many other people of whom not possibly all could have been Gryffindors. So it was with the other tables too. 

Sariss perceived that quite a few seats over at the Slytherin table were unoccupied. The reasons for that were fairly obvious. Death Eater offspring. Either to be questioned by the Ministry or ordered home precipitately by their parents who—or so Sariss thought at least—didn't think it appropriate for their children to celebrate the recent events.

The chatter of the assembled students gradually subsided when Dumbledore stood up.

"Three weeks have passed since this school was attacked from the inside and the outside," he began. "Three weeks since three among us unknowingly joined forces to end the Dark Lord's existence, the fear, the terror. Together they made another prophecy come true. And again, the Boy Who Lived walked away. Not many people can boast with such a thing. The few that could would rather not. And they're all here in this very room and, as I perceive it, they're all equally reluctant… which is something that in a certain case leaves me mildly astounded," he added softly, throwing a glance at Severus that couldn't have been noticed by any other people. But Sariss did. As well as Severus. He shook his head ever so slightly and groaned softly. Sariss had to bend her head to let her hair fall into her face so that it wasn't all too obvious that—despite the fact that she'd rather be anywhere else at this very moment—she had to suppress a laugh at Severus's expression.

"As I was planning this festivity, I was all the time fully aware that we had an actual end of term feast already," Dumbledore continued. "But there's so much more to be celebrated. Dark shadows were lifted off the wizarding world and its people. The Dark Lord couldn't conquer death this time. Past evil was made undone by the people who hardly a year ago had never even dreamt of finding themselves allies, Harry Potter, Severus Snape and Sariss Ravon. I award the three of you with the Order of the Phoenix—unfortunately, there is no such thing as of yet, but I wish it to be regarded as an honour equalling the Order of Merlin First Class."

Dumbledore had to ask for silence several times, before the shouting and clapping subsided again.

Sariss changed a look at Severus. He'd actually blushed a bit. _Cute._ Well, Sariss herself must have blushed considerably, since her cheeks were fairly hot. But not nearly as hot and pink as Harry Potter's were. The poor boy had his hair mussed up by a woman who, judging by her fiery hair, could only be Mrs Weasley—and, of course, his godfather.

"But the recent events mean even more to this school, our small community," Dumbledore continued. "The Houses can stand together as one when needed to do so. It proves quite clearly that—as suggested by quite a few respectable people during the last decades—that Slytherin is just as important a house here than the others. Where would the Sorting Hat put those who are simply destined to be Slytherins? Where would it put those who choose to be Slytherins if it weren't for the existence of this very house? Hogwarts would not be complete without you, Slytherin House. Just because some trees are befallen by illness, one must not burn the whole forest. But now enough of all those philosophical chitchat and in some cases perhaps even slightly meaningless phrases…" he trailed off, scanning the attentive audience.

"Let the celebrations begin!" Dumbledore exclaimed. "Merlin knows we have waited long enough," he muttered and sat down again.

"See? Wasn't so bad, was it? I daresay young Mr Potter will be just as glad that we didn't make all of this too big a fuss about."

"It's not over yet," Severus murmured.

"Come on. Let's go over to the buffet. I've just discovered that I'm quite hungry," Sariss said. "And if I'm not mistaken there's a heap of strawberries—of which I want my share."

"Not to mention that you'd like to play the social butterfly, don't you?" Severus smirked.

"Social butterfly?" Sariss rolled her eyes but laughed. "Me?"

"Alright, let's show off then," he replied and got up.

"Show off with what?"

"Well, I fully intend to show off with you, my beauty," Severus said, took Sariss's hand and pulled her up to face him before he kissed her knuckles, his dark smouldering gaze seemingly penetrating her as his lips and breath seared over her skin.

She smiled at him and bit her lip for a second.

"Don't do that."

"Don't do what?"

"Bite your lip like that. It makes me… nervous."

"Really?"

"Very."

"Good."

"Wench."

"Your fault alone."

"My fault?"

"Totally."

"Why's that?"

"Because—," Sariss drew nearer to his ear not only because of the music that had started playing, "because it was you who introduced me to the world of sinful pleasures. So you'll have to bear with me being that way."

"Introduce you. Did I now?"

"And quite spectacularly too." _Yes_, Sariss thought, _I made him blush._ At that, she snatched herself a plate and loaded it with strawberries, topping them with whipped cream and setting a small lonely strawberry on top.

"Do you really intend to eat all that? I must admire your ambition," Severus teased, having recovered from her free way of speaking.

Instead of answering, Sariss shoved the lonely strawberry into his mouth, experiencing that faint tinge of electricity again when her fingertips brushed his lips.

"Mmm," he said. "I could get used to that."

"Don't count on it."

"How about on special occasions?"

"You mean when I want to make you shut up?"

"Well… not exactly. You already have a very well-working Plan A for that. You need no Plan B. You never did."

"Indeed," Sariss said, her mouth now full with strawberries and whipped cream. "Mmm. My favourite," she added.

"Give me one more and I'll make them my favourite too."

"Take them yourself." At that, he caught her hand when she wanted to shove a particularly dark red strawberry into her mouth and guided it to his mouth instead. Sariss let him, quite enjoying all this teasing. "So this is your revenge on me for having had to spoon-feed me all those days?"

"Not quite. Come to think of it, not at all, although this now is much more satisfying and _inspiring_." He raised his eyebrows and kissed a bit of whipped cream from her fingertips.

"I believe I know exactly what you mean."

"Do you?"

"Yes."

"Really?"

"One hundred percent." Sariss smiled and raised her eyebrows just as he had done only a few moments ago. "Of course, to prove it I could do this," she said and bit her lip again, slowly and deliberately.

Severus smiled. "Wench," he said again teasingly. "But such a lovely one." The smile disappeared. "Oh no."

"What is it?" Sariss asked.

**~*~*~**

"Snape! How are you, old chap?"

"Don't, Black. Just don't," the Potions master mumbled.

"I believe your question was unnecessary, Padfoot," Lupin said. "If my eyes haven't betrayed me—and I think they haven't—I actually saw a smile creep over this usually sneering face of our old friend here—."

"Don't push it, Lupin."

"And that when he has such a nice smile…" Sariss grinned.

"Oh, no. Not you, too." 

"It's something all of us will have to grow accustomed to, Padfoot," Lupin said.

"I believe so. With such a gorgeous young lady by my side—," Sirius reached for Sariss's hand and brought it to his lips, "—I'd be smiling constantly." The man had the nerve to look at Sariss as though she were a piece of cake—and that when he was as good as married with Elizabeth (who happened to be Severus's goddaughter). Not that Severus could really blame him for staring at Sariss. If anything, Sariss had become even more beautiful. But that didn't give him the right to—.

"What, Snape, not going to tell me to stay away from your girl?"

"If I had to do that she wouldn't be my girl," Severus stated dryly and quickly extricated Sariss's hand from Sirius Black's. 

"Why don't you just try your luck with Nora Sinistra over there? She seems very interested if you ask me…" Sariss said with a wink.

"Sorry, I was just having a bit of fun with Severus here. Actually I'm very much taken. Unfortunately, she seems to be late…" That would be the first time, Black turned down the opportunity to flirt and get laid. Everyone knew that Sinistra was desperately looking for a dashing young wizard. Good for him. Severus had threatened him with all but disembowelment if he ever hurt Elizabeth. "And Sinistra seems more interested in Remus, I might think," Black said, winking at his old friend.

"What? Me?" Lupin looked a bit startled. "But I'm already—"

"Now there's a challenge… Must be animal magnetism," Severus drawled.

Sariss nudged him in the ribs. "Be nice," she hissed.

"What? I didn't even say the 'W'-word."

"Insensitive git," she smirked.

"So I am insensitive now, aren't I? Hmm… I shall have to prove the opposite," Severus replied, grabbed her and planted a kiss to her throat in such a dramatic and exaggerated way that it would have made any Muggle movie director of the nineteen forties proud.

Sariss giggled, as did everyone else, but Severus ignored the others. "Very convincing, but that was not what I meant," she breathed.

"I know. I just wanted to show off," Severus drawled and smirked as he drew her upright again. "Like I said."

"Show off later, Snape. Would you grant me this dance, Miss Ravon?" Sirius bowed and offered his hand.

Sariss quite obviously suppressed a grin, took Black's hand and said, "Of course." Then she raised her eyebrows at Severus and smirked again.

_She's trying to make me jealous._

**That's quite obvious. Does she succeed?**

_Not really._

**Really?******

_A bit, perhaps…_

**Only a bit?******

_Perhaps a bit more than a bit.___

"Hey, Black! Stay away from my girl!" Severus scowled slightly and Sariss sniggered.

"Your girl seems very well capable of deciding on her own. Not that that would be of much help for me. Besides—."

"I'll be back for the tango, Severus," she called from the dance floor. "It's all yours. Don't you dare go away in the meantime."

Severus bowed slightly to signal that he had understood.

"Already taking orders from her?" a voice behind him said.

"Headmaster, is there anything that escapes you?"

"Not really, Severus."

"At least now I know where Sariss got this 'Not really' thing from."

"I'm not so sure. I might have gotten it from her. Seems to be infectious, doesn't it?"

"Not really," Severus said with a smile as he chanced a look at Sariss who was enjoying herself greatly, as Black whirled her over the dance floor; occasionally they were dancing at the spot to be able to talk to some other people. There was Potter dancing with Weasley, the girl, that is. And Sinistra had actually managed to drag a Lupin out there, who kept looking in direction of a woman who was speaking to Mundungus Fletcher at the moment. It was Black's sister.

"There's something that I've seen much too rarely. Actually there are quite a few things that I've seem much too rarely," Dumbledore mused.

"What do you mean?" Severus asked, turning back towards Dumbledore. Black and Lupin had just swapped their dance partners.

"You're smiling, Severus. In fact, it has been lingering on your face for quite a few days by now. But it seems to fully show itself only when you look at Sariss. Especially now. And it's the same with her. She's happy, really happy. I've been hoping for this day to come ever since I looked into the large eyes of the little scared girl who sometimes acted and talked much too grown up for someone her age. You make her happy."

"She makes me happy."

"That's something you don't have to tell me," the old man smiled. "Would you mind if I borrowed Sariss from you for a dance?"

"If you want her to step on your feet you have my blessing and my pity," Severus said.

Dumbledore laughed. "The way I remember it, it has always been vice versa. She's much more talented at dancing than I am. I'm finally getting old."

"You're no older to me than you were when I was a student here. You haven't changed at all. Time seems to stand still when it concerns you."

"Ah, Severus, hidden beneath all this beard and hair are very old bones. However, they're not yet as old and fragile that they couldn't be persuaded to do a little dancing. So if you'll excuse me now? I'll have to cut in before someone else claims the next dance and snatches her away before my very eyes…"

"Certainly, headmaster."

And Dumbledore made his way across the dance floor, nodding here and there and exchanging a few words with the people he came across, until he reached Sariss who accepted his hand with a curtsy towards Dumbledore and a nod towards Lupin who was pulled away by Black's sister. He'd been ogling her all the time—and he seemed much more comfortable with her. Was there something Severus had—in spite of their collaboration in the Order—overlooked before? 

Black, however, had to find another victim, unless he wanted an eager Sinistra to steer him over the dance floor, as the headmaster interfered when he wanted another dance with a Sariss who enjoyed all this attention very much. 

Apparently, Elizabeth had arrived, since he was spared another dance with Sinistra and instead could be seen hurrying towards the entrance where Elizabeth had arrived. She threw herself into Black's arms, kissed him and then smiled a brilliant smile when he drew her across the dance floor towards Potter who immediately shot a glance at Snape.

Severus had the urge to glare back—old habits die hard—but didn't.

**~*~*~**

"May I cut in?" Dumbledore asked. "Sirius? Sariss?"

"What a pity. I'd love to make Snape really jealous."

"Nice try," Sariss said, "but quite in vain. You'll have to find yourself another dance partner. The girls are mooning over you."

"You still sense that?" Dumbledore enquired.

"No. Female intuition." Sariss grinned. "You seem to have your fans, Mr Black."

"So do you."

"If you'd leave her to one of her oldest fans right now, Sirius? I'd really appreciate that."

"Of course. Watch your feet, Albus."

Sariss looked scandalised. "_His_ feet? Are you implying—? Hey, you stepped on mine! He stepped on mine, Professor."

"That's your version of the events."

"Black," she growled teasingly. "I'm growing to understand Severus's immense dislike towards you."

Sirius feigned a heart attack. "That hurt. You just broke my heart. Happy now?"

"As a matter of fact…"

"She's all yours, Albus," Sirius said as he scanned the room for a familiar face. "But do watch your feet. She might get ideas."

Dumbledore looked at Sariss.

"I have no idea what he meant and I don't even want to ponder what he might have meant," she said dryly.

"Probably nothing," Dumbledore said, fairly amused. "May I have this dance?"

"Of course. We already settled that," Sariss answered. "What is it that you really want?"

"I'm beginning to suspect that you haven't lost that emotion-sensing-ability of yours after all."

"But I have. It's just that I'm used to you never making small talk. Every word you said to me was important. You've never been the type for idle chit-chat."

"You're right. I wanted to speak about something with you."

"And what is that?"

"The Death Eater trials. I've been informed that it's not necessary for you to attend and be questioned on those matters. The verdict is quite clear already. The only thing that has to be discussed is their sentences. But if you want to, you see, if you think it necessary, I'd inform the Ministry…"

"I don't think I have to be there. I simply don't feel the urge to do that. I don't care what happens to them. Send them to Azkaban for ten years or a lifetime, sentence them to the _Kiss_. I don't care as long as they won't walk out of there as free men." She sounded stunned as though she'd only just realized that she didn't need to see them being tried and found guilty, which they would be.

Dumbledore nodded.

"You know, not such a long time ago," she continued, "I saw myself walk past a row of them, each one of them manacled to his or her seat. I saw myself look into each of their faces while I told the world what none of them had prevented from happening. I saw myself turn my back on those stony faces and walk away in some sort of triumph. Like a scene in a Muggle film or so. In slow motion. But I just realized that I don't need it. It's finished. The end. No sequel."

"It's good to hear you're over it. I just wanted to make sure that my impression hasn't deceived me."

"When was I ever able to deceive you?" she smiled, and so did her eyes. "I could never pretend anything to you without you noticing, could I?"

"Not really, child, not really," Dumbledore said kindly.

"I want to thank you, sir, for everything."

"My motives weren't as altruistic as they're made up to be."

"Anyway, I thank you."

Dumbledore waved her thanks aside. It wasn't necessary. He owed her much more than a mere 'thanks'. The whole wizarding world was in her debt—and she didn't care.

Because she was too happy to care.

"I see you're being happy, that's enough thanks."

**~*~*~**

Severus couldn't tear his eyes away from her. He felt a smile creep to the corners of his mouth and spread over his face as he busied himself with some strawberries—they reminded him of her—and other delicious things from the buffet—none of which was nearly as delicious to him as the sight of her and the thoughts it provoked.

After a while, during which he had watched Sariss dancing, smiling and laughing and simply being her gorgeous self—and she was indeed gorgeous tonight; the new dress was simply perfect on her, making her look like a purple whirlwind—she ambled back to Severus, flushed and a bit out of breath, a happy smile on her face.

"What's a man like you doing in a place like this—alone?" she said, putting her arms around his waist.

"Waiting for a woman like you to save him from his misery?" Severus offered and kissed the tip of her nose.

Sariss giggled and wrinkled her nose. "In a playful mood today, are we?"

"Not as playful as impatient. Apparently you've been declared fully recovered, so…"

"Always with your mind in the gutter, are you?" she teased.

"My thoughts revolve around you. I would hardly call that 'in the gutter'."

"Some people regard patience as a virtue…" she said. "Not me though."

"I'm afraid all I can offer you are vices…" he smirked.

"I'm all for exploring every single one of your _vices_."

"Say… Would it be all too bad behaviour if we fled the stage now and continued this conversation in a bit more private manner?"

"Conversation? So that's what it's called nowadays…"

"Can you blame me? Only looking, never being allowed to thoroughly… ahem… exhaust you because all the world thinks you too weak and ill for it. And always having Madam Pomfrey breathing down my neck."

"I most certainly wouldn't have minded—." She looked mildly scandalized.

"I know." Goodness, how well he knew that! "And that's the worst part of it—," he stooped slightly to growl into her ear, "—with you little wench being not very helpful when it concerns this unintended celibacy."

"Do I look like someone who needs any more rest to you?"

"You certainly need anything in the world more than rest." He kissed her earlobe.

"Would you like to make me need some rest again?" she whispered huskily. Her breasts were pressed against his chest.

"It would be my profoundest pleasure," Severus said. "But there's something else. You have a promise to fulfil."

_You can wait a bit longer, my love. We have all the time in the world, and you know it too—although I wouldn't want to wait too long myself either…_

"A promise?"

"If I'm not mistaken those are the first few times of a tango. You promised."

"Ah, I remember," she breathed. "Then let's show them what a real tango is supposed to look like—and afterwards we flee this hullabaloo in here and 'continue our conversation' in private."

"Fine with me."

**More than just fine.******

In fact, it wasn't immediately afterwards that they left the celebration, but quite some time later, as Sariss was whisked away several times by several different people.

Severus couldn't help feeling a bit jealous, since she did seem to enjoy it very much that she got that much attention from the 'male half of the population' as she'd phrased it once. But wherever she went, whoever stole her from Severus—may it be Black (again!), Dumbledore (again, again), Fletcher, or at one point even Harry Potter—she came back to him for the slow dances. With flaming cheeks, she told him that she'd always regarded them as some sort of 'extended foreplay' and chuckled softly as she placed his hands on her waist and hers around his neck and drew him near.

Did she have any idea how cruel she was? Her breath just below his ear, her body pressed against his, her arms around him, her hands stroking his neck so lightly that it couldn't even have been visible for others. And the scent of her hair and skin, rising all around him, worming its way discreetly into his mind, was intoxicating as always.

_She's a drug. _

**And you're very much addicted.**

_Whatever powers responsible for her choosing to be with me instead of someone else whom she'd have no difficulty to get now, I am grateful._

**Well, an overdose is certainly in order in your case.**

"Let's leave here," she whispered finally, in mid-dance, and Severus was only too happy to oblige. And as it was already well past midnight, they didn't even have to bid many people goodnight; most of them were occupied with dancing anyway. 

When they'd reached Sariss's chambers, they scarcely made it into the bedroom.

**Next chapter:**

The epilogue. Sariss feels loved, Severus calls her a wench, Harry says good-bye to Hogwarts castle—and I'll thank everyone who reviewed profusely…


	37. Deep Silent Complete

Author's note: Thank you, harryforeva, Alexandria Wood and Darkness Illusion aka Ally. You've made it to the end!

Epilogue: Deep Silent Complete

**_The age will say "This poet lies"  
Heaven never touched earthly face  
The age will say "This night was ours"  
Blessed with the Deep,  
The Silent, the Complete_**

**—**_Nightwish__: Deep Silent Complete_

Sariss snuggled into Severus, a blessed drowsiness had settled on her. He had kept his promise. He had indeed made her need some rest again. And now she lay in his arms, draped over him the way she always had, even during the previous week when it had been most unfair to torture him like that. But the little evil voice wouldn't keep quiet. It had enjoyed persuading the more sensible part of her to tease him a bit—and appearing quite innocent too.

With his fingertips, Severus began to draw lazy circles and patterns on her shoulder. 

"Your hands are cold," Sariss mumbled, not really expecting him to hear her, since he sometimes did the same thing in his sleep and not conscious of what he was doing.

"I never thought I'd hear that from you," he chuckled. So he wasn't asleep after all. It was strange, this not being able to sense him with her mind. "You'll have to warm them then." His coldish fingertips travelled down her spine and disappeared under the blankets.

She sighed contently. Actually, she couldn't keep herself from doing that as he made those familiar sensations rush through her system again. She shifted her weight a bit as she'd done the entire previous week, delighting in the fact that he took a sharp breath and growled, "Wench. All the time you did that on purpose. And I always thought you were asleep."

"Who said I wasn't?" she mumbled against his smooth chest, bestowing a set of little kisses on his skin before resting her head on it again. "Well, your hands are certainly not cold any longer…"

"How could they be when you're a human fireplace now?" His voice was a low growl in her ear. The constant rise and fall of his chest, accompanied by the sound of his heartbeat, made her feel so very cosy. 

In a certain respect, Sariss revelled in her weakness much more than she'd ever had in her strength. Before she had returned to Hogwarts, there had been no one who had ever thought she needed protection. She had simply not been the type of girl any common man or wizard felt instinctively protective of. With her preternatural—or, as Sariss herself had called it: unnatural—strength and the gifts of her mind, everyone had thought they needed protection from her. And as strange as it was, even with all her strength and powers Sariss hadn't felt safe. Powerful, yes. Mighty, yes. Dangerous, oh yes. Capable of managing on her own, maybe. But safe, not really; not as long as Voldemort had been lurking somewhere in a shadowy corner.

Only now she felt safe and protected and more than anything else: loved. Yes. Loved and happy beyond comparison. She thanked whatever powers there were that everything had come to a happy conclusion. The whirlwind in her mind was no more; she was warm. She had woken from a nightmare that had lasted for almost eighteen years. She'd had her revenge, but strangely, it didn't mean anything to her anymore. She'd left everything that concerned the Dark Lord behind. All her demons were gone for good.

"Have you fallen asleep again?" Severus asked softly, gently playing with her hair. It made Sariss smile. Severus sometimes seemed to find roundabout everything about her fascinating. Mostly it were the little things he paid attention to. When she had still been too ill to leave the bed on her own, he had been so attentive, drawing the curtains shut when the sun shone in too brightly, easing the hairbrush out of her hand and finishing brushing her hair when he found she looked tired—in fact it was simply that her muscles hadn't been too keen on obeying yet; her arms had seemed so heavy, they'd felt to her as if weighing a ton.

He'd been lavishing every kind of care and attention on her. He still did. He'd listened to her every word, not even complaining when, during his answers, Sariss fell asleep with her head on his shoulder out of sheer sleepiness and contentment.

"You know, I think I'll stay for another year or two…" she said, hoisting herself up on her knees that were on either side of him now. He, too, drew himself up and lifted her hair to push it back over her shoulders, his fingertips slithering over the bare skin of her breasts and arms as he did so.

"Not longer?" he asked.

"Depends."

"On what? Salary? Career? One of Trelawney's prophecies?" he murmured into her ear, while his hands travelled around her waist. Those weren't questions; those were statements—and he was trying to sound casual to conceal the question that lay behind them. But she knew what he wanted to hear.

She smiled for a second at the last statement, then pushed him back far enough to be able to look into his face, ran her fingertips down his jaw line, put her arms around his neck, and said simply, "You."

"Me?"

"Yes, you. I mean what are you going to do now that you can leave Hogwarts again without pretending to be what you are not, without having to fear for your life?"

"Hmm… I could pay a visit to Snape castle…"

"Snape castle?"

"Yes, I own a castle. I haven't been there for years—." 

"Will you take me there?" She smiled and raised her eyebrows at him suggestively.

"Depends."

"On what?"

"You."

"Me?"

"Yes, you. Do you want to come? You could help me drive the dust bunnies out, spoil their party and all that."

Sariss laughed. "And then?"

"And then what?" he teased.

"We have a whole summer to ourselves."

"I'm sure we can think of something to occupy ourselves with—."

"Me too."

He continued, chuckling, "Not only what my answer just implied, although at second thought… Anyway, you've got to show me how you always manage to beat me at playing chess."

"It's not much of a problem to beat you there, Sev."

"At least give me the illusion to be a match for you."

"But if I let you in on my secret strategies it wouldn't be fun anymore. Besides, you seem to lose your concentration on the game fairly easily… Not that I'd have to resort to such means."

"I tend to disagree—Wait a minute. Did you just call me 'Sev'?"

"I might have… Got a problem with that… _Sev_?"

"Not at all. No one ever called me that. What gave you the idea?"

"It came quite naturally. If you hadn't caught on, I think I wouldn't have noticed. I might have called you that before…"

"Hmm."

"What, hmm?"

"I'm thinking about a nickname for you. Your name's really not suitable for something like that, you know. It can't be shortened. Sariss. Sar, no, that sounds like a demon name. Sary? What do you think?"

"Have mercy on me," she grumbled and buried her face in the hollow between his neck and shoulder.

He laughed. "Perhaps your middle name, then."

"Please no."

"Why not? What was your middle name again? I can't seem to remember although I must have heard it once or twice…"

"Electra, after my mother. Hardly suitable for a nickname, I'm afraid."

"Hmm. How about Ellie?"

Sariss drew back, horrified. "That sounds as though I were a two-hundred-year old granny." She winced and shook herself for emphasis. "Now stop messing around with my name. I'm Sariss and I'm yours, that ought to be enough."

"I couldn't ask for anything more."

"By the way, what's your middle name?"

"I refuse to answer."

"I can't be that bad."

"Believe me, it can."

"Please, Sev," she purred, biting back the giggles that threatened to escape her as she continued, her little hands straying over him, "as long as it's not Bartleby or Rufus, you can tell me."

"My parents were not _that_ cruel."

"Oh, come on. Or I'm going to consult the records in the library at once. I'll find it, even if I have to read every single book in 'The Boring Corner' as we always called the really dusty shelf in the back. That would of course mean I'd have to leave immediately…" she trailed off suggestively, planting a few kisses along his collarbone.

"It's Sinclair," he mumbled reluctantly. "And it's unfair to resort to such means when you want information. But it's also… very… nice…"

"Severus Sinclair Snape…" she tried, each word punctuated with a kiss. "What was all the fuss about? It sounds nice; suits you. Your family apparently had a penchant for names beginning with an S, didn't they?" 

"And as it happens to be your name begins with an S, too."

"Oh, dear. You're not proposing to me, are you?" she asked teasingly, a small hint of amusement in her voice. "I'm not ready for something as big as that."

"Not yet," he answered in the same tone of voice. "That is something that must be planned thoroughly, like a game of chess—at least one that's not against you. Besides, I'll have to determine if I can cope with someone as annoying as you for more than a few hours per week. You'll have to stop being such a workaholic." 

"Well, I can try." She chuckled, as did he. Then, after a little kiss, they lapsed into silence, sitting there with their arms around each other. A good silence it was, born out of contentment and happiness. They didn't need to speak as they had all the time in the world to talk about important things or trivialities just because they wanted to hear each other's voice; no fears, no doubts overshadowed their lives anymore.

Sariss rested her head on his shoulder and once again began bestowing kisses on his throat and neck. They never missed their effect on him. She wanted him.

"I love you, Sev," she whispered when she had reached his ear.

"I could get used to hearing you say that. Say it again," he said, rolling over so she was lying beneath him, his face only inches from hers, looking deep into her eyes.

"I love you. I love you. I love you," she repeated, punctuating each statement with a little kiss.

He smiled. "Very convincing."

"I hope so… Your turn."

He grew very serious all of a sudden. There was no longer a smile lingering on his face, not even in his eyes. "You're all I never even dared to dream of. You're my life, my love, my universe."

The way he said it… He wasn't exaggerating in the slightest. He meant what he'd just said. A real declaration of love.

"And I love you."

"Not as much as I love you," she managed to whisper in reply before he drowned her in a kiss, easily lifting her up as he put his arms around her, making the outer world disappear as waves of passion engulfed her.

It was different now that she couldn't feel his emotions anymore. Now she had become more conscious of her own emotions; they were no longer overlapped by his. It was frightening and made her shiver. She was frightened of her own emotions. But she liked it. She was thrilled by it. It had very much surprised her when, earlier that night, they had made love for the first time after her recovery, after she had been reborn as she liked to call what had happened to her. 

But somehow, it was still the same, too. As strange as this was. His touch was the same. His breath on her skin was the same. The touch of his lips was the same…

It would be dawn before they'd fall asleep. They'd be making love and talking and just be together in silence, in each other's arms, until they'd drift off into sweet dreams. 

_No more nightmares,_ Sariss vowed. _Never again._

It was over.

Something new had begun.

**~*~*~**

And farther up in Hogwarts castle, up in Gryffindor Tower, Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, wasn't asleep either. He sat on the windowsill as he had dozens of times in the past and watched the stars twinkle merrily down at him—or so it seemed. 

What a year it had been. It had been so schizophrenic. On the one hand, there had been Voldemort and all the evil that came with him; on the other hand, there had been life at Hogwarts, peaceful and quiet most of the time. 

Death and destruction. 

Friendship and love.

So many things had happened, good and evil, funny and sad. But now, the storm was over.

The other boys slept peacefully, Neville mumbling something in his sleep, Ron snoring softly as he always did. Harry could be sleeping, too. He wasn't awake because of any inability to fall asleep. His scar hadn't so much as itched for more than a week.

The nights hadn't seemed so dark anymore since the Dark Lord had been vanquished. And this time, he wouldn't come back again. Harry had seen him die. Not just disappear, but die as in dropping dead to the ground. And the prophecy also said so. He chuckled softly so as not to wake up the other boys in the dormitory who were sleeping soundly. 

Parvati wouldn't replace Trelawney teaching Divination at Hogwarts someday, would she? Unlike most of Trelawney's prophecies—which thankfully had proved right only twice, and in matters that hadn't included Harry's gruesome death—this one had come true. The wizarding world slept peacefully tonight, yet keeping a wary eye open. 

_Constant vigilance…_

Harry Potter smiled. Tomorrow—no, it was tomorrow already, he corrected himself—today, he'd leave Hogwarts to stay at Sirius' for the summer, visit the Weasleys at The Burrow—and perhaps he'd invite Ginny to stay with him at Sirius' for a while, too… 

No, not perhaps… He definitely would.

As he finally climbed into his four-poster (for the last time) and went to sleep, he whispered, "Good-bye Hogwarts, I'll miss you."__

**~*~*~**

**_"If you read this line, remember not the hand that wrote it  
Remember only the verse, songmaker's cry the one without tears  
For I've given this its strength and it has become my only strength.  
Comforting home, mother's lap, chance for immortality  
Where being wanted became a thrill I never knew  
The sweet piano writing down my life…"_**

_—Nightwish: Dead Boy's Poem_

The End 

**Author's note:** A thousand hugs go to everyone who found a few nice words to say about this story. I so hate to be flamed… 

**_Sariss@slytherinhouse.co.uk_** thanks you for bearing her weirdness and reading this far. ;-)


	38. References, Acknowledgements And Credits

References, Acknowledgements & Credits  
a.k.a.  
"Whose line is it anyway?"  
and some trivia...

**First things first: I thank all the wonderful poets and songwriters who won't sue me for using their splendid works for my chapter titles—you won't, or would you? ;-)**

**Prologue: Prelude to Tragedy**

Title taken from a song by HIM. It's called I LOVE YOU (PRELUDE TO TRAGEDY)

"You're sorry. I'm sorry. We're all sorry." MISSION IMPOSSIBLE 2

"A nice fiction…" A bit of a strain, but from GLADIATOR

**Chapter 1: Journey in my Head**

"D-Oh. " not intended. But looks suspiciously like THE SIMPSONS

Damien Houdini: inspired by the great wizard HOUDINI

A. D. Shade: Aurora Dawn Shade: fictitious, but notice the association of light and darkness in this name…

Drew Quick: Lovely name for a Dueller

Newt Slicer: Potions book author. Nice, isn't it?

Crystal A. Tattore: An anagram of CRYSTAL, TEA & TAROT

Optima Eversmile: The name alone sounds optimistic, doesn't it?

**Chapter 2: A Friendly Face**

"What is this owl doing outside its cage? That animal isn't allowed outside its cage! Not a feather of it is allowed outside its cage!" inspired by Snape in PoA when Harry threw mud at Malfoy and had to hurry back up into the castle—only to be caught by Snape…

Sirius extending his hand towards the Dursleys: inspired by that scene at 'Mooby-the golden calf' in DOGMA

"I don't trust you farther than I can throw you." MONKEY ISLAND: LE CHUCK'S REVENGE

Ginny Gems: Some really lovely story at GRYFFINDOR TOWER…I just can't remember which one…

Harker: The name is from BRAM STOKER'S DRACULA. I was watching it while I typed away happily—and desperately needed a name…

**Chapter 3: Lady in Black**

"A toad?" Now I'd say it's a PHANTOM OF THE OPERA reference. But I hadn't seen the musical yet when I wrote this. Call me Trelawney…

"Potty and the Weasels?" Notice the similarity to ADAM & THE ANTS?

"I don't like repeating myself." THE QUEEN OF THE DAMNED (movie)

**Chapter 4: Here We Are Again**

"Professor McGonagall does not like to be kept waiting." Swap our dear Deputy Headmistress with 'Master' and you'll have a great quote from THE ROCKY HORROR PICTURE SHOW (got to love that one…)

The Sorting Hat song is all mine! Do you have any idea how hard it was to find a word that rhymes (almost) decently with 'quick-witted'?

Allen, Rick Eamon: I'm an Alan Rickman fan. Rick Allen, get it? And the Eamon is of course Eamon de Valera from MICHAEL COLLINS. And it's pure coincidence that Alan's role in BLOW DRY is Phil Allen. Honestly, I hadn't seen it yet when I came up with this.

Hugh Edward Crane: Hugh Crane is the evil one in THE HAUNTING—although Hugh isn't evil in this story.

Elisa Day: The girl murdered in Nick Cave and Kylie Minogue's "WHERE THE WILD ROSES GROW"

Susan _Marie Laveau_: A witch, an American Voodoo Queen.

Chloe _Morghanna_ Lestrange: Morghanna is derived from Morgan or Morgaine le Fey—depending which spelling you prefer. Half-sister of King Arthur. Some people think she was evil; others say that the whole legend has been misinterpreted. The Harry Potter Game says she's a dark sorceress and the enemy of Merlin. I just needed a witchly name.

Malfoy _Seth_ Salazar: Egyptian god of Death and/or Destruction; the Devil

Sariss Electra Ravon: Sariss is taken from LUCASARTS JEDI KNIGHT. It's been my internet alias for years before I came up with this story. According to GREEK MYTHOLOGY, Elektra was the daughter of Agamemnon. His wife and her lover, however, devised a plot to kill him. Elektra then convinces her brother Orestes to help her avenge Agamemnon's death. Ravon was supposed to be RAVEN—a red herring, as her true Animagus form looks slightly different.

_Azrael_ Evan Rosier: Azrael is a well-known demon name. I was inspired to use it by DOGMA and Anne Rice's SERVANT OF THE BONES

"For the time being…" : repeated use inspired by CLEOPATRA. Rex Harrison as Julius Cesar says it a couple of times…

"Just… images, really. Feelings." RETURN OF THE JEDI

The DADA lesson is based on the fantastic "FANTASTIC BEASTS & WHERE TO FIND THEM"

"That would prove a bit awkward…" ROBIN HOOD—PRINCE OF THIEVES

**Chapter 5: A Wound Unhealing**

"Why does shame and self-loathing become cruelty?" The fabulous Anne Rice's MERRICK

"No retreat, no surrender." I'm almost ashamed to admit that but it's from KARATE TIGER

"Lonely… But funny. Has a great sense of humour…" DOGMA

**Chapter 6: Wanted**

"That should go on like a house on fire." BLACKADDER (I don't remember which episode)

"She's a freak." I admit I've been watching too much SABRINA…

"We heard you the first time." The quote actually goes "We heard _it_ the first time." Anyway, it's from GALAXY QUEST

"Mmm… I feel better already." INTERVIEW WITH THE VAMPIRE

"That's part of my charm." HIGHLANDER-THE SERIES

Life, the universe, and everything… DOUGLAS ADAMS

"I beg your pardon?" DOGMA

"If that girl had a vicious streak in her, she'd be a real fiend." Inspired by THE WITCHING HOUR (not the exact quote because I couldn't get my hands on an English copy. I did my best translating and adjusting it…)

"And why not, say I. A man like you—in his prime—she'd be a most fortunate young lady—."  
"Sariss Ravon would no more think of me than she would of you, headmaster—."   
"Severus, do not think of yourself so meanly—."   
"—and all the better for her." SENSE & SENSIBILITY

**Chapter 7: A Dreamer's Mind**

"Don't worry, when you start a new job it's normal for things not to go well at first." QUIGLEY

Jamie (on the Gryffindor Quidditch Team): Alan Rickman's name in TRULY MADLY DEEPLY

Jenny Bateman (at the tryouts for the new Chaser): Bateman is the name of the protagonist in AMERICAN PSYCHO

Hayes (the Slytherin Keeper): I admit I was listening to SAVAGE GARDEN when I found I needed another name…

Sariss trying to come up with an apology and practising it: strongly inspired by ELIZABETH

"…A witch pretending to be a Muggle pretending to be a witch." "A bit avant-garde, isn't it?" inspired by "Vampires pretending to be humans pretending to be vampires." "How avant-garde." INTERVIEW WITH THE VAMPIRE

McGonagall dressed as Thetis, the goddess of the sea: Maggie Smith played that goddess in 1981's CLASH OF THE TITANS

Grabthar's hammer! GALAXY QUEST

"I've crossed oceans of—." BRAM STOKER'S DRACULA

"You!" "I'm afraid so." Another side effect of too much ROCKY HORROR PICTURE SHOW…

"Wake up! His dream, his rules. Etc." inspired by NIGHTMARE ON ELM STREET especially Part 4: The Dream Master

A shrew. He'd like to tame her: A shameless allusion to the master of drama himself: WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE

Sinclair Snape: I needed a suitable name for a Snape and remembered those trashy JOHN SINCLAIR novels I read from time too time when I was younger… Additionally, I just found out that Alan's role name in CLOSE MY EYES is also Sinclair…

Serena Carter-Snape: Severus's mother's name had to sound peaceful, like a secluded place, a sacred space. Serene—Serena.   
The Carter is from STARGATE

**Chapter 8: Broken Pieces**

Never let them see you bleed. JAMES BOND: THE WORLD IS NOT ENOUGH

Let's put it off till tomorrow. Inspired by GONE WITH THE WIND (I don't know the exact quote. Somebody tell me?)

Yes, and much more than I thought at first. MISSION IMPOSSIBLE 2 "Much more than I thought…"

Get up! Rise! Fly! Inspired by SPIDERMAN

"But a book is an entirely different matter." Inspired by THE EMPIRE STRIKES BACK

"I fear the pleasure will be entirely mine…" MOULIN ROUGE

Weinberg; Ewan Dane (both on the Ravenclaw team): Alan Rickman played the role of David Weinberg in DARK HARBOR; Ewan is from EWAN MCGREGOR and Dane is Alexander Dane, another one of Alan's roles, in GALAXY QUEST

**Chapter 9:Come Closer**

"Just a minute." ROBIN HOOD

"Not insinuating… flat-out telling you." DOGMA

…hoping that this kiss wouldn't become another scar… Inspired by STAR WARS EPISODE 2 "…hoping that this kiss will not become a scar."

"What is thy bidding, my master?" THE EMPIRE STRIKES BACK

**Chapter 10: Beneath the Surface**

Stella O'Hara: Stella is the name of the girl in AN AWFULLY BIG ADVENTURE; O'Hara is Alan's role.

"Tea. Tea would be nice." STEPHEN KING'S 'IT'

Temet nosce—know thyself. THE MATRIX

"Malfoy, my office, 7:30 tonight. Rosier and Wilkes, 7:45. Bring a pair of Dragonhide gloves…" A bit modified. It's from ROBIN HOOD

**Chapter 11: In My World Love is for Poets**

"You miss your mother, don't you?" STAR WARS EPISODE 1

"You're the closest thing I have to a father." STAR WARS EPISODE 2

"You don't trust anybody, do you?"  
"I find it safer to not make a habit of it. No. Present company excepted, of course." HIGHLANDER-THE SERIES

**Chapter 12: The Master Prophecy**

"Rumours of my death have been greatly exaggerated." No idea, but it must be a quote. Somebody help me?

"I'll have to buy myself another name if you keep wearing out this one." BATMAN RETURNS

"What do I want?… What do I yearn?…" The whole scene is strongly inspired by THE QUEEN OF THE DAMNED

"You called, Madam?" ROBIN HOOD

'Subtle thoughts are here again.' BLACKADDER

"You're shaking." "Cold." "Still cold?" THE QUEEN OF THE DAMNED

_If I had just one wish, only one demand… _CREED: WITH ARMS WIDE OPEN

**Chapter 13: Eye to Eye**

"I know words that express what he is. But they don't seem to be appreciated when I say them." inspired by AN AWFULLY BIG ADVENTURE

"Now there's a little riddle for you. Put the following words in a sentence: Off. Hell. The. Sod." "Sod the hell off." BLACKADDER

**Chapter 14: Once Unkind**

Claire Redfield: name taken from RESIDENT EVIL 2 (computer game)

Leon: the other character in RESIDENT EVIL 2

"Would you like to dance?" AN AWFULLY BIG ADVENTURE

"Play a Volta!" ELIZABETH

This moment is eternity. A song by NIGHTWISH

…at great lengths, whether you wanted her to or not. DOGMA

If velvet had a voice it would sound like his. Somebody said that about Alan Rickman's voice. I agree.

"Forgive my mistaking your behaviour for an invitation."…  
"It… It still is…" inspired by MARY REILLY

The kiss itself was very much inspired by MESMER. I want to be kissed like that one day. Any volunteers? ;-)

"I can teach you how to bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses. I can tell you how to bottle fame, brew glory and even put a stopper in death." Exact quote from the first HARRY POTTER MOVIE

**Chapter 15: Let Me Tear Your Heart Apart**

"I… enjoyed it. The answer is yes." HIGHLANDER-THE SERIES

"I once heard a wise man say there are no perfect men. Only perfect intentions." ROBIN HOOD

Who cares about a ---- when there's a man like this? SENSE & SENSIBILITY

**Chapter 16: To Know All the Answers**

A rose by any other name still smells sweet. Not exact, but derived from ROMEO & JULIET "That which we call a rose by any other word would smell as sweet."

Mr Pierson: Adam Pierson HIGHLANDER-THE SERIES

**Chapter 17: Live My Life Extended**

The prank Sariss and company pulled on Snape was inspired by the ending sequence of HARRY POTTER & THE PHILOSOPHER'S STONE computer game

"Mi casa es su casa." HIGHLANDER-THE SERIES

"I'm so pleased my distress amuses you." JANE EYRE

**Chapter 18: Sweet Death**

"What kept you?" HIGHLANDER

"I happen to like nice men." "I'm a nice man." "You're not." THE EMPIRE STRIKES BACK

Perhaps she'd always used irony as a shield to keep her going when she was actually breaking inside? One day or other, I read something similar in some book by NORMAN MAILER. Care to refresh my memory of it?

"Pick _that_ up." DOGMA

"You unimaginable bastard." TITANIC

_Tonight I think I die._ ELIZABETH

Why don't you ever learn to keep your big mouth shut? ANNIE LENNOX: WHY?

_Smiling now kind of made her ache all over when she didn't feel like it at all. _Inspired by the ROCKY HORROR PICTURE SHOW "Even smiling makes my face ache."

"I am your father." "No, that's not possible, that's not true…" Inspired by THE EMPIRE STRIKES BACK

"You do not have their weaknesses… I gave you their strength." Notice the similarity to BLADE?

Angel Potion: The name of a video codec I had to download… I'm using every bit of inspiration I can get my hands on…

"…how you've repaid me, denied me and betrayed me…" THE PHANTOM OF THE OPERA: ALL I ASK OF YOU

"You think you're not going to scream, don't you? But you will. You will scream." THE TEN COMMANDMENTS (I don't think the quote is exact…)

**Chapter 19: I Can't Change**

Put out the light… INTERVIEW WITH THE VAMPIRE

"What can I do?" he asked finally.  
"Severus, you have done so much already."  
"Give me an occupation, Madam Pomfrey, or I shall run mad." SENSE & SENSIBILITY

**Chapter 20: What Others Do Abhor**

The lesson on snakes is almost completely taken from FANTASTIC BEASTS AND WHERE TO FIND THEM

Where's the happy ending? GALAXY QUEST

There's never a happy ending because nothing ends… THE LAST UNICORN

"So my life has been a lie…"  
"No. No, not at all. You are who you are." DOGMA

"I was speaking of living, not just surviving." INTERVIEW WITH THE VAMPIRE

"There's no point in living when you can't feel alive." JAMES BOND: THE WORLD IS NOT ENOUGH

**Chapter 21: Can't Face the Shame**

The first half of the nightmare was inspired by and belongs to Crystaviel and her fic "I'll stand alone." You can read it on ff.net or in the Snape Support Group on yahoo! I still haven't found the time to devour that story in a single go as I'd like to. That nightmare scene was intriguing—although I don't have the slightest idea what it might be referring to. Thank you, Crystaviel. I hope you don't mind me having been so very much inspired and allow me to disturb Severus's peace of mind quite thoroughly.

"Cleaning the house." I so wanted to use that quote somewhere. It's from MESMER

**Chapter 22: I Want to Scream**

She was simply not entirely _there_. AMERICAN PSYCHO "I am simply not _there_."

"What have you done?" THE LAST UNICORN

"Tell me you don't love me. Etc." strongly inspired by MOULIN ROUGE

"You can't keep running away forever." "I'm not running. I'm walking." QUEEN OF SWORDS

"She's not dead."  
"Not yet." INTERVIEW WITH THE VAMPIRE

"…more human than human. More humane." Inspired by ALIEN RESURRECTION

"Itwasaboutwhetheryouwouldevernoticemeandifyouwouldthenwhenyouwould," Ginny muttered swiftly. Etc… Is it my fault that DOGMA is so inspiring?

**Chapter 23: Seal Upon Thine Heart**

"Join us."  
"No!"  
"Join us or die." ROBIN HOOD

"You are Sariss Ravon. Nobody can take that away from you, not even Voldemort." DOGMA

"Why does shame and self-loathing become cruelty? How is that so often the case?" MERRICK

"The alternative is unthinkable." HIGHLANDER-THE SERIES

"Don't you love me, just a bit?" AN AWFULLY BIG ADVENTURE

Perpetua Fite: Perpetual Fight

_Playing God:_ A movie with David Duchovny and Angelina Jolie

Polyphemus G. Mendel: _Polyphem_ is the one-eyed giant in the Odyssey; _Georg Mendel_ was a German(?) monk who experimented with pea plants and found out a great deal about how dominant and recessive genes are handed down from one generation to the next. 

Charles D. Winn: derived from Charles Darwin. I don't have to tell you who he was, do I? Evolution, get it?

Brooke Clopedia Howse: based on _Encyclopaedia_ and _Brockhaus_, a renowned multi-volume lexicon. I only know the German version. Is it published under that name in other countries, too?

It was a frightening experience to be with her. She was so different from any other woman he had ever known. She was so strong. Maybe that was the reason why she always seemed so cold and detached. Etc. Inspired by THE WITCHING HOUR

There was no pleasure, no rapture, no exquisite sin greater… DOGMA

**Chapter 24: She is my Sin**

"It… makes me feel… _uncomfortable." _STAR WARS EPISODE 2

"…before, behind, between, above, below…" DONNE'S ELEGY XIX: To His Mistress Going to Bed

"Is there (even) a soul in there?" PLANET OF THE APES

"Sariss! You've been a very, _very _naughty, little girl!" INTERVIEW WITH THE VAMPIRE

"Just a wild stab in the dark." BLACKADDER

Severus Snape, _sexy _Slytherin: You might want to read the unfinished story with that very title on ff.net. It's brilliant, hilarious and absolutely adorable!

…to make the sun shine in her heart for a millennium…: GLADIATOR

"You people." and "You're such a child." DOGMA

**Chapter 25: No More Be Grieved**

"I know what you are. And I like being with you," he said. "I want to be here. I wouldn't want to be anywhere else in the world."  
"No, you don't. You couldn't. You don't know me. I am—"  
"I know what you are," he interrupted her. "You've got an unusually strong personality, which regards every avowal of needing something or asking for it as horrifying." He was surprised at himself for finding those words, even more so because he felt they were true.  
Silence. She nodded. Then, "If only that were all," she said. She sounded exhausted. THE WITCHING HOUR (not the exact quote)

"Don't be the victim, be the volunteer. Be it willingly." Inspired by THE HAUNTING

"I don't want to trouble you."  
"Please do trouble me." THE LAST UNICORN

_Knowledge is power. Superior knowledge is control. Control is what you crave. _"Knowledge is power." FRANCIS BACON. The rest is by me. Like it?

_It's astounding how time is fleeting…_ THE ROCKY HORROR PICTURE SHOW

"It'll hurt more." ROBIN HOOD

"But it's one and the same," she said.  
"Really?"  
"It's the same." Inspired by RASPUTIN

"…gentle, mild and virtuous…" WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE: RICHARD III.

**Chapter 26: And All in War with Time**

"Part of my charm." HIGHLANDER-THE SERIES

"It's a miracle your life has extended this far." SENSE & SENSIBILITY

"I have a cunning plan." BLACKADDER

**Chapter 27: The Past is Gone**

"Lonely soul, ocean soul." NIGHTWISH: DEAD BOY'S POEM, which is one of the most beautiful and heart-breaking songs I've ever heard. I was listening to it when I was typing and it just crept into the story… This is a recommendation.

**Chapter 28: Echoes in my Head**

He caught her hands, gently extricating her hair from between her fingers.  
"Don't you hurt yourself." Inspired by THE LAST UNICORN

"Drown out my dreams," she pleaded despairingly. "Keep me from remembering." THE LAST UNICORN

She smiled when he shifted to let her lie beneath him, where he wanted her to be.  
"Severus," she whispered. He thought he heard his name echo. Severus, Severus. The outside world was gone again. There was only she. Sariss, with her startling green eyes, her luscious lips that breathed her sweet words of Come Hither only for him to hear, as she wrapped her naked arms around his shoulders, her glowing ivory limbs around him. ANNE RICE'S MERRICK

"That's stealing, Ginny," Ron said.  
"According to Fred and George it's called 'borrowing'," she muttered. Inspired by THE MUMMY

"…the great and famous Harry Potter, conqueror of evil and saviour of British virtue—." Inspired by A KNIGHT'S TALE

"Everything is in readiness, Master. We merely await your word." THE ROCKY HORROR PICTURE SHOW

Vera Truz, the reporter: _Vera_ is Latin and means 'true'; and the _Truz_ is obviously derived from 'truth'. Now that's a reporter you can trust…

"Young love. A glimmer of light in those dark times." I'm not sure, but it might be from BRAM STOKER'S DRACULA

**Chapter 29: Absent-minded Eyes**

"You're not evil."  
"But it's inside me—."  
"You're not evil and you're not monstrous in any way."  
"Do you like making love to me?"  
"What?" he asked, startled.  
"Do you like it?"  
"Yes, of course. If I didn't, I wouldn't. But it also scares me a bit, I must admit, because you're so strong, so different from any other woman I've known."  
"Yes, I am. I could kill you right at the spot, you know? All your strength wouldn't be of any use to you…"  
"Why don't you?" he asked gently.  
"I don't want to."  
"Listen. Everything can be used for good and for evil. It's in our hands to decide that. You made that decision."  
"Did I?" She looked him in the eyes now. Her gaze was focused, piercing, like steel. Her lips were pressed tightly together.   
"Yes, because you're strong in mind. That was what I actually meant."  
For a moment, she did look evil. Her face half in shadow, her eyes blazing, she looked cold and calculating. It was as if he could see her in an alternate reality… THE WITCHING HOUR (not the exact quote) 

It was as if she asked him to help her with her whole being. Her teeth were biting down on her lower lip—not seductively, as he was almost used to by now, no, but viciously. It seemed her hands were moving to reach out for him but then withdrew. Instead, her left hand clutched her necklace in a fist, her right hand clutching it cruelly, as if she wanted to hold back something unspeakable. THE WITCHING HOUR again, and still no exact quote

'Burying is easier than forgetting…' PARIS TROUT (Again: Who can tell me if it's the exact quote?)

"I can smell it in the air, I can feel _him_ in my veins…" inspired by THE FELLOWSHIP OF THE RING

"Hate leads to suffering." STAR WARS EPISODE 1

_Armand_ Lestrange: Okay, guilty as charged. I've been watching INTERVIEW WITH THE VAMPIRE again…

**Chapter 30: The Dark Side**

Phytia Relyaion: Phytia, the famous priestess, the oracle of Delphi. Relyaion was supposed to sound a bit Greek. It indicates that you can 'rely on' her predictions.

"There are some things even love can't change." A picture on the MOULIN ROUGE BONUS DISC bears those words.

"Ticklish?" _'Very ticklisssh.'_ Inspired by THE QUEEN OF THE DAMNED

Do I need to point out the STAR WARS references in this chapter?

"Why are you with me?"  
"Maybe it's because you're looking at me the way you do now." I don't know where it could be from. Erm… help me?

**Chapter 31: The Devil's Deeds**

"The master does not like to be kept waiting." One of my favourites, from the ROCKY HORROR PICTURE SHOW

"The time has come," the Dark Lord/Walrus said, "to talk of many things..." Lewis Carroll, THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS AND WHAT ALICE FOUND THERE. 1872

"I fear the pleasure will be entirely mine…" MOULIN ROUGE

"Am I not merciful? …" GLADIATOR

"If I don't at least try to stop him, no one will. This task is upon me alone." Inspired by THE FELLOWSHIP OF THE RING

New Zealand's very nice this time of the year. Or Bora Bora… HIGHLANDER-THE SERIES

…the chains that defined who she was… REMY ZERO: GRAMARYE (See title of Chapter 4)

"Perhaps you failed to take into account my hidden assets." JAMES BOND: THE WORLD IS NOT ENOUGH

**Chapter 32: The Kin Slayer**

_She was by no means a raven; she was a crow, the bird that supposedly guided the souls of the dead into the after-world…_ Inspired by THE CROW, of course. I hadn't really thought about the meaningfulness of that allusion when I wrote that bit (and made her a crow), but in retrospect, I must say that it's fantastic. It must have been three in the morning when I came up with this—the time when I tend to write the really good lines—unless I'm asleep ;-).

_People who got hurt are dangerous. They know they can survive…_ Again, I have no idea where I heard this. But it must be a quote. I'm not clever enough to come up with something like that myself. God doesn't allow that much talent in a fanfiction writer.

_The alternative is unthinkable. _HIGHLANDER-THE SERIES (Timeless)

**Chapter 33: Close My Eyes**

_Close My Eyes_: One of the very few movies of mean, moody and magnificent Mr Alan Rickman that I do not own—yet. Gotta go and study the TV guide… I envy the Americans among you guys…

"Chapter Seven. Journey to the Crossroads. Frodo and Sam returned to their beds and lay there in silence resting for a little…" Of course, Sariss's favourite book is THE LORD OF THE RINGS

Aurors _Queror_ and _Ansel_. On the desperate quest for suitable names I thought: Why, they ask questions/queries and want answers, right? That's where those names come from. 

**Chapter 34: When You're Sleeping**

"She's not dead. She's sleeping." THE QUEEN OF THE DAMNED (modified.)

"How are you?"  
"I've had some bad nights."  
"I'm here now."  
"That's all I wanted." DARK HARBOR

"I'm afraid… even more than I was of Voldemort… Afraid." THE LAST UNICORN

"All my life I had nothing." RASPUTIN

"I beg your pardon?" DOGMA (we keep quoting that movie day in, day out…)

"I do not think I can walk…" SENSE & SENSIBILITY

"Where to, Miss?" TITANIC (under no circumstances would Sariss answer, "To the stars." No way!)

"People don't always know when they're happy, but I think I am." THE LAST UNICORN, I think…

"Thank you." "What for?" "Missing me." TRULY MADLY DEEPLY

**Chapter 35: No Regrets at All**

"Two out of three etc.…" inspired by Remus Lupin talking to Hermione in PoA

"Part of my charm." One of my favourites. It's still from HIGHLANDER–THE SERIES

"…Not going to tell me to stay away from your girl? Etc." X-MEN

Animal magnetism: Please don't lecture me about MESMER. Actually, I'd written it just like that in my first draft of the story when I hadn't seen MESMER yet. Then I changed it to 'animal attraction'. Now it's back to the roots. Back to my first draft. Like it?

**Epilogue: Deep Silent Complete**

„...Bartleby or Rufus..." Very much inspired by DOGMA

**_Think I missed a bit? Anything I overlooked?(And I think I did…) Wrong quotes? Additions? Ideas?_**

**_Just use the review option and type it there or send a mail to Sariss@slytherinhouse.co.uk and I shall fix it. Gladly._**


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